V 


iEx  Htbrtfi 


SEYMOUR  DURST 


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be  yonx 


i  PLACE  II  THY  MEMORY. 


"With  the  year 
Seasons  return,  bat  not  lo  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  cl'  ev'n  or  morn. 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  dirinas 


Bt  MRS.  S.  H.  DeKROYFT. 


NEW  YORK: 
POOLE  &  MACLAUCHLAN,  PRINTERS, 
205-213  East  12th  Street. 
1872. 


PS 

ma 


TO 

MRS     REV.    DOCTOR   E.  NOTT, 

OF  UNION  COLLEGK,  SCHENECTADY,  NEW  YORK. 

THIS  VOLUME 

:9  MOST  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 


5^5  tfjc  ilut|)orfgg. 


PREFACE. 


As  the  author  of  "  Memoirs  of  mj  Youtli " 
laid  bare  his  heart  to  the  world  for  the  sake 
of  dollars,  so  I  have  been  induced  to  gather 
from  mj  friends  these  letters,  and  bind  them 
into  a  book. 

I  bad  perfect  sight.  I  was  in  one  short 
month  a  bride,  a.  widow,  and  blind  ;  yet 
Providence  has  made  it  needful  for  me  to  do 
something  to  provide  for  myself  food  and 
raiment. 

Upon  the  loss  of  my  sight,  I  was,  through 
the  influence  of  Senator  Backus,  of  Kocliester, 
allowed  to  spend  one  year  at  the  J^ew  York 


6  rREFACE. 

Institution  for  the  Blind;  which  time  expired, 
and  I  embarked  in  the  little  enterprise  of  pub- 
lishing this  volume,  by  soliciting  subscribers 
who  would  give  their  names  and  pay  me  in 
advance. 

Accordingly,  with  my  prospectus  in  my 
hand,  I  first  waited  upon  the  Board  of  Man- 
agers of  the  Institution,  who  lent  me  their 
influence,  and  sanctioned  my  efforts  by  sub- 
scribing for  several  copies  each.  The  next 
day  I  waited  upon  the  gentlemen  of  the  City 
Hall,  and,  encouraged  by  their  kindness, 
thence  passed  on  through  Broadway,  Wall, 
South,  and  most  of  the  principal  streets  of  the 
city  ;  and  now  that  my  task  is  ended,  and  my 
little  book  is  about  going  to  the  publishers,  I 
have  not  an  unpleasant  memory  associated 
with  the  whole  affair.  In  the  hurry  of  busi- 
ness, in  the  intricacies  of  law,  and  amidst 
problems  half  solved,  gentlemen  have  laid 


PREFACE.  7 

down  tlieir  pens,  read  my  prospectus,  written 
tlieir  names,  and  paid  their  money  ;  and  often 
escorted  me  to  the  door,  and  saw  me  safely 
down  the  stairs,  perchance,  directing  my  gen- 
tle guide  where  to  find  others  as  kind  as 
themselves. 

Gratitude  is  the  purest  of  the  heart's  me- 
mories, and  I  can  only  offer  to  my  friends, 
subscribers,  purchasers,  and  all,  my  warmest 
thanks.  I  cannot  compliment  my  own  work ; 
I  shall  leave  it  with  an  indulgent  public.  In 
perusing  its  pages,  however,  the  reader  must 
remember  that  they  were  either  written  with 
the  sense  of  feeling,  by  means  of  a  grooved 
card  and  pencil,  or  prompted  to  a  friend, 
from  an  overburdened  heart. 

S.  BELEN  DeKEOYFT. 


A  PLACE  IN  THY  MEMCRY. 


Rochester i  April,  1846. 
My  precious  Mother, — My  whole  heart 
is  drawn  out  to  you.  When  WilUam  was 
with  me,  I  loved  him  more  than  all  the  world 
beside,  but  he  is  in  the  grave  now,  and  my 
purest  affections,  mother,  evermore  are  yours. 
If  this  frail  body  could  move  with  the  fleetness 
of  thought,  I  vv^ould  come  to  you  now,  and 
pillow  my  weary  head  on  your  bosom,  and 
your  soft  hands  would  dry  these  tears  from 
my  j>oor  eyes.  Oh  that  I  could  op^n  them 
once  more,  mother,  and  see  your  smiling  face, 
and  feel  my  spirit  grow  warm  and  gentle  in 
the  hght  of  your  eyes,  and  your  looks  of  love. 
Tell  me,  dear  mother,  have  you  changed  at 
all  ?  Do  you  look  as  when  I  saw  you  last 
1* 


10 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


Oh,  had  I  known  thai  ere  we  should  meet 
again,  the  hght  would  leave  me,  how  would  I 
have  gazed  on  your  form,  until  on  my  spirit 
were  engraved  your  every  look  and  feature ! 
You  often  come  to  me  nov/,  when  dreams  pos- 
sess my  thoughts,  and  then  I  tell  you  how  sad 
it  is  to  be  blind,  and  how  melancholy  the  long 
days  and  nights  are,  and  how  I  sometimes 
almost  pray  to  go  into  tlie  spnit  world,  and 
mount  the  wings  of  light  for  ever.  But  mother, 
I  bless  God  for  a  cheerful  faith,  and  a  heart 
all  resigned.  Whatever  his  hand  orders  is  for 
the  best.  You  taught  me  early  to  know,  and 
try  to  do,  the  will  of  God;  but,  mother,  to  suffer 
it  is  another  thing.  I  could  climb  the  Rocky 
Mountains  to  teach  the  Indians,  cross  the  seas, 
and  live  for  ever  with  the  Hindoos,  and  the 
task  would  seem  light,  and  my  burdens  easily 
borne ;  but  when  I  look  along  the  current,  of 
perhaps  fifty  years,  of  darkness,  dear  mother^ 
my  heart  fails,  and  like  the  doubting  Hebrew, 
[  begin  to  sink.  Then  an  unseeri  arm  lifts 
me,  and  whispers,  "  Be  still,  and  know  that 
I  am  God."  Yes,  dear  mother,  what  we  do 
not  know  now,  we  shall  know  hereafter.  In 


A   CHEERFUL  FAITH. 


a  few  days,  new  hills  and  valleys  will  inter- 
vene, and  your  anxious  cares  for  your  child 
will  be  kindled  anew.  But  be  comforted ;  the 
widow's  God  will  take  care  of  me,  the  friend 
of  the  ravens  will  not  leave  nor  forsa]ce  me, 
and  ere  long,  I  shall  come  to  you  again.  My 
heart  coaxes  me  to  come  to  you  nov/,  but  duty 
points  another  way.  Things  are  not  always 
what  they  seem.  When  Moses  looked  around, 
for  the  last  time,  upon  the  white  tents  pitched 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  pressed  the 
hands  of  the  sires  who  had  grown  gray  in  his 
friendship,  and  embraced  the  little  ones  whose 
hearts  had  budded  into  life  in  the  light  of  his 
heavenly  face ;  when  he  bade  adieu  to  all  that 
was  dear,  and  began  his  journey  up  the  weary 
side  of  Pisgah,  he  little  knew  that  the  clouds 
which  overhung  him  would  so  soon  break 
away,  and  the  glories  of  the  promised  land 
burst  upon  his  enraptured  vision.  Mother,  so 
good  may  yet  come  to  me ;  there  may  be  in 
reserve  a  morning  whose  dawn  is  not  yet  be- 
gun. Faith  is  the  blossom  of  the  soul ;  it  makea 
the  doctrine  of  a  future  life  a  bright  reality, 
keeps  heaven  near.^  and  brings  departed  ones  in 


12  A   PLACE   IN   TIIY  MEMOkV. 

speaking  distance;  it  aliases  awoy  the  shades 
of  grief,  and  puts  fear  to  flight. 

Dear  mother,  your  parting  words  are  still 
fresh  in  my  memory,  and  your  prayers  and  | 
tears  are  locked  in  my  lieart.  Your  love  is  a 
sort  of  spirit  robe  that  covers  all  my  thoughts, 
and  I  wear  it  every  where.  Kiss  little  sisters 
and  brother  often  for  me,  and  let  them  never 
forget  their  sister  Helen;  but  they  must  not 
think  of  me  only  as  something  sad  and  melan- 
choly, for  I  am  growing  more  cheerful  now; 
sometimes  I  laugh  almost  as  merrily  as  ever. 
Tell  brother,  when  I  come  again  he  will  gathei 
wild  flowers  with  me  as  before,  and  I  can  heai 
him  say  his  lessons,  and  Nin  and  Mary  will 
read  for  me,  and  write  all  my  letters,  and  I 
will  teach  them  some  new  songs,  and  tell  them 
many  stories.  They  must  go  to  the  library 
ever}  week,  and  v'rite  me  what  they  read. 


SOUTHERN  OIIARACIER. 


13 


Water- Cure,  Long  Island. 

My  good  Friend  Mr.  Dean:— Let  me 
thank  you  many  tim.es  for  your  dear  note  of 
yesterday.  How  kind  of  you  to  think  of  me 
in  your  leisure  moments,  when  they  ccme  to 
you  so  seldom !  I  have  no  new  thing  to  write 
to  you,  save  that  to-morrow  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Nott  leave  for  their  home  in  Schenectad}^,  and 
also  a  lovely  family,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardy  and 
daughter,  of  Virginia,  all  of  whom  will  be  very 

much  missed  in  our  circle.     Mrs.  H  is 

somewhat  larger  than  myself;  her  complexion 
is  a  dark  brunette  ;  she  has  jet  black  eyes,  and 
her  raven  tresses  nearly  touch  the  ground. 
Some  say  she  is  a  descendant  of  Pocahontas 
or  Metoka  as  her  father  called  her.  I  do  love 
a  real  Southern  character,  it  makes  one  so  cor- 
dial generous,  and  impulsive.  Mrs.  Hardy 
and  myself  have  climbed  these  hills  together, 
crossed  valleys,  and  traversed  winding  foot- 
paths, and  waded  the  brooks,  and  plunged  and 
bathed  together,  till  she  seems  almost  a  part 
af  myself    I  shall  miss  her  gentle  hand  and 


14 


kind  words  every  where.  But  they  hava 
arranged  that  1  pass  the  month  of  May  next 

at  their  pleasant  home  in  N  ,  which  I  fancy 

wiU  be  a  httle  romid  of  dehght,  almost  a  dissi- 
pation. The  winter  looks  dark  and  cheerless 
now,  for  as  yet  I  know  not  where  to  pass  it ; 
but  you  see  there  is  a  bright  spot  for  me  in  the 
spring-time ;  so  I  will  go  on,  laughingly  and 
gladly,  as  though  I  had  a  fortune  secured,  and 
nothing  more  to  do  in  this  life  but  live  and  be 
happy. 

One  little  thing  I  must  tell  you  :  Mrs.  Hardy 
promises  when  she  gets  to  New- York  to  send 
me  back  a  nice  writing-desk  for  a  keepsake. 
Will  not  that  be  a  precious  gift  ?  and  how  I 
shall  love  the  dear  thing  for  her  sake  !  Oh, 
why  is  every  body  so  kind  to  me  ?  I  cannoi  be 
sad  long  at  a  time  if  I  try  ;  some  tuneful  voice 
always  comes  to  cheer,  and  some  gentle  hand 
to  guide  and  bless  me. 

Dr.  S  is  anxious  for  me  to  remain  here 

until  1  am  quite  well.  He  says  the  wate: 
treatment  is  much  more  effectual  in  cold 
weather  than  in  warm.  Besides,  the  good 
Quaker  s^ev/erd  ai]  d  stewardess  often  say, 


THE   HUSHED  HOUR. 


lb 


think  we  must  keep  thee  here  this  winter 
thoii  will  be  so  much  company  for  us." 

JSJ'ii/yYorJc  Institution  for  the  Blind. 
My  pREcif's  Mother, 

The  sun  cet  upon  the  sea,  and  the  moon 
rose  above  the  hills,  and  the  stars  came  out 
smiling  through  the  clouds,  like  bands  of 
angels,  with  linked  hands,  flying  through  the 
heavens.  The  reading  hour  past,  we  sang  an 
evening  hymn,  and  prayers  were  said,  and  the 
bell  rang  for  ten,  and  all  laid  them  down  to 
sleep.  To  Him  who  sits  enthroned  in  the 
abodes  of  hght  and  love,  I  heard  Mary's  lips 
whispering  of  mother,  home,  and  heaven. 
Perchance  slie  is  dreaming  now  of  faces 
imaged  on  her  heart  long  ago,  and  the  sunny 
hours  of  childhood  with  their  visions  of  joy 
have  come  to  possess  her  thoughts.  It  is  mid- 
night, that  deep  hushed  hour,  when  the  soul 
tiuns  back  upon  itself,  and  all  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  are  chased  homeward  by  incidents 
of  the  past.  Now  the  night  dews  are  hanging 
lightly  on  all  the  flowers,  and  the  green  leaves 


16 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  iMEMOR\. 


in  iTU")ony  shadows  are  trembling  on  the  wallSj 
and  the  lengthened  forms  of  the  waving  boughs 
are  crawling  on  the  floor,  as  the  shades  of 
melancholy  creep  o'er  my  soul.    Away  yonder 
on  the  bosom  of  the  Hudson  the  lights  of  the 
sky  are  twinkling;  so  up  in  heaven,  on  tlie 
fountain  that  w^ells  from  the  throne,  the  smiles 
of  God  are  j>iaying.    The  world  of  spirits  is 
opened  to  ours,  and  ours  to  theirs ;  even  now, 
loved  ones  departed  are  in  smiling  distance, 
and  their  blent  voices  fall  on  my  ear,  like  the 
pulses  of  a  lute,  when  the  waking  hand  has 
passed  away.    They  come  in  the  night  time, 
when  silence  holds  her  spell-like  reign,  and  in 
miseen  communion  spirit   doth  with  spirit 
blend.    Niglit  too  is  the  time  for  prayer ;  then  I 
the  ear  of  Heaven  is  nearer  bent,  and  the  full  \ 
sad  heart,  by  faith,  breathes  a  freer  air,  and 
leaping  upward,  gets  new  and  clearer  glimpses 
of  the  Christian's  better  life.   So  Jesus,  v/earied 
with  the  toils  of  the  day,  oft  at  night  climbed 
lonely  Olivet,  apart  to  pray  and  talk  with  his  j 
Feather  in  lieaven,  and  seraphs  who  had  groAvn  j 
old  in  his  Icve  were  with  him  there;  and  while  i 
he  kneel  3d  upon  the  damp  earth,  their  spirit 


OUil   BLUE  ONTARIO. 


17 


harxls  dried  his  tears  away.  Dear  mother,  1 
often  fancy  you  must  be  near,  and  turn  to  hear 
you  speak,  and  put  out  my  hand,  but  to  greet 
the  empty  air.  Oh,  think  of  me  when  the 
morning  breaks,  and  when  the  noon  is  bright, 
and  the  day  decHnes ;  and  pray  for  me  too, 
lest  this  hfe  of  darkness  make  me  sad,  and 
loneUness'  self  settle  on  me.  W rite  to  me  often, 
mothei,  and  say  I  have  always  a  place  in 
your  love,  and  a  memory  in  your  prayers  ;  say 
that  little  brother  and  sisters  speak  of  me  in 
their  play,  and  count  the  days  until  I  shall 
come  back  again.  I  am  pleased  with  the  In- 
stitution. If  Charity  herself  had  come  down  to 
build  on  earth  a  home  for  her  children,  and 
Innocence  had  gathered  them,  the  dwelling 
were  not  more  fair,  or  its  inhabitants  more 
lovely  and  pure.  But,  dear  mother,  I  love  our 
blue  Ontario  more ;  its  green  shore  inurns  the 
stirring  memories  of  a  heart  that  was  my  own; 
besides,  the  dearest  spot  is  always  where  our 
friends  abide.  When  the  sun  was  going  down 
T.  went  into  the  garden,  and  felt  around  among 
the  bushes,  until  I  found  some  flowers,  and 
gathered  a  beautiful  bouquet  for  you,  mother 


18  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

ana  now,  in  fancy,  I  will  steal  softly  into  yoii 
room,  and  lay  it  on  your  pillow.  May  its 
sweet  perfumes  make  you  dream  ol  a  la. id 
where  flowers  never  fade,  and  those  we  love 
never  die ;  v/here  sorrow  may  not  come^  and 
where  with  a  napkin  of  love  all  tears  shall  be 
wiped  from  our  eyes. 


Institution  for  the  Blind,  January,  1847. 

This  hour  I  sit  me  down  to  write  you  in  a 
little  world  of  sweet  sounds.  The  choir  hi  the 
chapel  are  chanting  at  the  organ  their  evening 
hymn — across  the  hall  a  little  group  with  the 
piano  and  flute  are  turning  the  very  atmo- 
sphere into  melody ;  but  Fanny,  the  poetess, 
is  not  there.  Many  weeks  her  harp  and  guitar 
have  been  unstrung,  and  we  fear  the  hand  of 
consumption  is  stealing  her  gentle  spirit  away. 
In  a  room  below,  some  twenty  little  blind  girls 
are  johiing  their  silvery  voices  in  tones  sweet 
and  pure  as  angels'  whispers.  And  ah  !  here 
comes  one  who  has  straved  from  their  number 


I 

I 


19 


the  tv/entielh  time  to-day,  clambering  her  litrie 
arms  about  my  neck  for  a  kiss.  Earth  has  no 
treasure  so  heavenly  as  the  love  of  a  sinless 
child.  Man  seldom  welcomes  you  farther  than 
ilie  fair  vestibule  of  his  heart,  but  a  child  in- 
vites you  within  the  temple,  where  alone  the 
incense  of  unselfish  love  burns  upon  its  own 
altar. 

'Tis  evening — the  moonbeams  gladden  all 
the  hills,  the  stars  are  out  and  I  see  them  not — 
once  my  poor  eyes  loved  to  watch  those  wheel- 
ing orbs,  till  they  seemed  joyous  spirits  bathing 
in  the  holy  light  of  the  clear  upper  skies  : — 
out  now  they  are  not  lost  to  me ;  fancy,  with  a 
soul-lit  look,  often  wanders  in  the  halls  of  me- 
mory, Avhere  hang  daguerreotypes  of  all  that  is 
bright  and  beautiful  in  nature,  from  the  lowest 
flower  that  unfolds  its  petals  to  the  sunbeams, 
up  to  the  cloud-capt  mountain  and  the  regions 
of  the  starry  sky — whence  slie  plumes  her 
pinions,  boldly  entering  upon  new  and  untried 
regions  of  thought ;  passes  the  boundary  oi 
the  unseen,  to  far-off  fields  where  "  Deity  geo- 
metrizes,"  and  nebular  worlds  are  ever  spring- 
big  into  new  life  and  glory ;  and  upwards  still 


20 


A   PLACE   Ii\   TIIY  MEMORY- 


to  the  spirit  land,  where  all  are  blessed  and 
lost  ill  present  joys,  till  happiness,  forgelfulj 
numbers  not  the  hours.  There  my  thoughts 
love  to  linger,  till  with  the  angels  1  seem  to 
come  and  go,  wandering  oy  joy's  welHng  foun- 
tains and  glad  rivers  of  delight  ! 

But  oh  !  this  is  truth  and  not  fancy.  My 
life  is  a  "night  of  years,"  and  my  path  is  a 
sepulchred  way  ;  on  one  side  sleeps  my 
FRIEND,  and  on  the  other  lies  buried  forever  a 
world  of  light,  and  all  its  rays  revealed :  the 
smiles  of  friends  and  all  their  looks  of  love, 
without  which  the  heart  knows  no  morning 
The  Saviour  wept  at  the  grave  of  his  friend, 
and  I  know  he  does  not  chide  these  tears ; 
they  are  the  impearled  dews  of  feeling  which 
gather  round  a  sorrowed  heart.  But  where 
God  sends  one  angel  to  afflict,  he  always  sends 
many  more  to  comfort ;  so  I  have  many  angel 
friends  who  love  me  well.  Their  gentle  hands 
lead  me  by  pleasant  ways,  and  their  tuneful 
voices  read  to  me,  and  the  kindness  of  their 
words  makes  my  heart  better.  Oh  !  tell  me  ; 
when  summer  gladdens  the  world  and  vaca- 
tion gladdens  me,  shall  I  again  be  on  the  banks 


SOERO'.V.  2j 

cf  the  Genesee,  tlie  while  loved  and  blessed  by 
the  warm  hearts  of  Rochester  ? 


Lake  Collage^  iS'ovtmber,  1S47. 

My  dear  Lizzy: — It  is  not  pleasant  to  be 
blind.  My  poor  eyes  long  to  look  abroad  upon 
this  beautiful  world,  and  my  prisoned  spirit 
struggles  to  break  its  darkness.  I  would  love 
dearly  to  bonnet  and  shawl  myself  and  go  forth 
to  breathe  the  air  alone,  and  free  as  the  breeze 
that  fans  my  brow.  But  as  Milton  once  said 
to  his  favorite  daughter,  "  It  matters  little  whe- 
ther one  has  a  star  to  guide  or  an  angel-hand 
to  lead :"  and,  Lizzy,  we  must  learn  to  bear, 
and  blame  not  that  which  we  cannot  change. 
The  journey  of  life  is  short.  We  may  not 
stop  here  xong,  and  sorrow  and  trial  discipline 
tl'.e  spirit,  and  educate  the  soul  for  a  future 
life ;  and  those  upon  whom  we  most  depend, 
wre  love  most.  A  good  English  writer  says, 
•'Let  thy  heart  be  thankful  for  any  circum*. 
stance  that  proves  thy  friend." 


22 


A   PLACE   IN  THY  MEMORY. 


Two  summers  ha"^'c  come  and  gone  s:i:.ce 
my  William  died  in  Rochester.  We  broughl 
him  here  and  laid  him  down  in  the  grave  to 
eieep,  close  by  his  childhood-home,  where  the 
quick  winds  and  white  waves  of  Oiitario 
come  swelling  to  the  shore  ;  and  nigh  above 
its  silvery  bosom,  clouds,  dove-like,  are  hang- 
mg.  One  moon  had  hardly  waned,  when  the 
angels  came  again,  and  while  1  slept  darkened 
my  weeping  eyes  for  ever.  Oh  !  Lizzy,  was 
sorrow  ever  so  deep  ?  was  misery  ever  so 
severe  ?  Hope  departed,  and  an  unyielding 
blight  settled  on  all  the  joys  my  heart  had 
wed.  "  Passing  away "  is  truly  a  part  of 
earth.  It  lends  a  deathlike  air  to  our  gay  en- 
joyments, and  mingles  sorrow  with  our  cups  of 
bliss.  It  stops  for  ever  our  happy  labors,  and 
frustrates  our  choicest  plans.  Those  whom 
we  learn  to  love,  die,  and  the  cold  earth  presses 
the  lips  we  have  loved  to  kiss,  and  freezes  the 
hearts  tuned  to  beat  in  unison  with  our  own. 
Lizzy,  evermore  I  am  blind,  and  a  wanderei, 
but  not  homeless.  I  have  God  for  my  father 
the  angels  for  friends,  and  Jesus  an  "elder 
brother."    The  pure  homes  in  many  hearts, 


LAKE  COTTAGE. 


too^  are  mine — dwellings  dearer  than  all  the 
world  beside. 

This  morning  finds  me  at  Mr.  Ledyard's  de« 
li ghtful  "  Lake  Cottage,"  where  Lombard  pop- 
.ars  lift  their  tapering  tops  almost  to  prop  the 
skies  ;  the  willow,  locust,  and  horse-chestnut, 
spread  theh  branches,  and  flowers  never  cease 
to  blossom.  Maggie  is  my  kind  amanuensis. 
Now  she  reads  to  me — gives  me  her  arm  for  a 
walk.  Now,  with  her  harp  and  tuneful  voice, 
she  unchains  the  soul  of  song,  the  while  cover- 
ing all  my  thoughts  with  gladness,  till  I  almost 
forget  my  "  night  of  years,"  and  live  in  a  land 
where  ever  swells  with  melody  the  air,  and 
sorrow  and  tears  are  unknown,  save  such  as 
pitying  angels  weep.  With  Maggie  all  joys 
are  less  than  the  one  joy  of  doing  kindness. 
Her  smile  makes  the  sunshine  of  many  hearts  ; 
the  cloudless  dawning  of  their  new  enjoy- 
ments. 

It  is  Thanksgiving  Day,  Lizzy,  and  my 
tlioughts  have  been  wandering  backward,  far 
over  the  current  of  years.  Refitction  is  indeed 
an  angel,  when  she  points  out  the  errors  of  the 
past  and  gives  us  courage  to  avoid  them  in  the 


24  A   PI. ACE   IN   T'lY  MEMORY. 

future.  Maggie  is  reading  me  tlie  book  of  Jobj 
and  this  evening  niy  spirit  more  than  evei  looks 
up  in  thankfulness  to  God  for  the  Bible,  Hea- 
ven's purest  gift  to  mortals.  It  is  the  star  oi 
eternity,  whose  mild  rays  come  twinkling  to 
this  nether  sphere  ;  erring  man's  guide  to  wis- 
dom, virtue,  and  heaven.  The  Bible  is  the 
book  of  books.  In  comparison  Byron  loses  his 
fire,  Milton  his  soarings,  Gray  his  beauties,  and 
Homer  his  grandeur  and  figures.  No  eye  like 
rapt  Isaiah's  ever  pierced  the  veil  of  the  future  ; 
no  tongue  ever  reasoned  like  sainted  Joh's ;  no 
poet  ever  sung  like  Israel's  shepherd  king,  and 
God  never  made  a  man  more  wise  than  Solo- 
mon. The  words  of  the  Bible  are  pictures  of 
nnmortality ;  dev/s  fi oin  the  tree  of  Know 
ledge ;  pearls  from  the  river  of  Life,  and  gems 
of  celestial  thought.  As  the  moaning  shell 
whispers  of  the  sea,  so  the  Bible  breathes  of 
love  m  heaven,  the  home  of  angels,  and  joys 
too  pure  to  die.  Woul-d  I  had  read  it  more 
when  my  poor  eyes  could  see.  Would  more 
of  its  pure  precepts  were  bound  about  my 
heart,  and  I  had  wisdom  to  make  them  the 
mottoes  of  my  life.    The  world  may  entertain 


MARV  S  TEARS'. 


25 


its  ide?  of  a  magnificent  Deity,  whose  govern- 
mcnt  is  general ,  but  let  me  believe  in  the 
l.ord  God  ot  Elijah,  wliose  providence  is  en- 
tire, ordering  the  minutest  event  in  human  hfe, 
and  with  a  father's  care  arranging  it  for  the 
greatest  possible  good.  Yes,  Lizzy,  when 
storms  gather,  and  my  way  is  dark  and  drear, 
with  no  star  to  guide,  nor  voice  to  cheer,  my 
sinking  s})irit  finds  rcfcge  in  the  world-wide 
sympathies  of  a  Saviour  who  did  not  chide 
Mary  for  her  tears,  and  came  himself  to  weep 
at  the  grave  of  his  friend. 

My  dear  Lizzy,  I  fear  1  have  written  you 
too  long  and  too  sad  a  letter;  but,  dearest,  do 
not  think  me  melancholy;  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  I  have  more  smiles  than  tears,  more 
good  than  ill.  Let  me  thank  you  many  times 
for  your  kind  invitations  to  be  with  you  on 
New  Year's  Day  at  your  new  home,  and  foi 
your  gentle  hint  that  Santa  Claus  will  be 
there  too.  Maggie  says  his  majesty  will  be  in 
the  country  at  that  time,  and  I  must  stop  here; 
however,  I  shall  be  with  you,  Lizzy;  till  then 
good-bye,  with  my  unabated  love. 

P.  S.  Water  is  to  nature  what  melancholy  is 
2 


2G 


A    PLACE    IN   THY  MEMORY. 


to  the  soul;  beautiful  in  its  mildness^  but  ter- 
rific and  fearful  in  its  wrath.  When  1  began 
my  letter,  Ontario  was  sleeping  in  her  beauty, 
but  since  then  she  has  foamed  and  roared  like 
a  thing  of  very  madness,  and  her  long  circliLg 
waves  have  overturned  the  seaman's  homo, 
and  borne  it  far  down  where  the  dolphins 
sleep,  and  the  bones  of  wrecked  mariners  lie 
thick  on  the  ground. 

To-day  I  took  a  long  adieu  of  William's 
grave ;  Maggie  led  me  there  and  left  me  alone 
awhile,  to  commune  with  the  dead;  and  as 
the  waves  washed  the  bright  pebbles  to  the 
shore  and  bore  them  back  again,  so  the  tide  oi 
memory  swept  over  my  heart  its  cherished 
hopes;  and  I  watched  them  fall  back  into  the 
sea  of  life,  to  return  no  more. 


Jun£  14.  1849. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Fisher. — Your  letter  was 
a  darling  little  visitor.     My  heart  has  had 
many  a  sweet  chat  with  its  friendly  words. 


LIGHT   AND  SHOWERS. 


21 


How  glad  it  made  me  I  cannot  tell  you.  [t  is 
pleasant  to  be  remembered.    I  regret  that  Mr. 

F  could  not  find  time  to  call,  but  such 

remissness  of  dut//  is  always  pardonable  in  a 
business  man.  Well,  dear  Jenny,  "  they  tell 
me  Spring  is  waking,"  and  all  nature  is  teem- 
ing with  very  gladness  ;  the  leaves  and  buds 
and  twigs  with  new  life  are  swelling,  the  little 
brooks  have  unclasped  their  icy  bands,  and  the 
lake  waters  have  broken  their  magic  fetters, 
and  the  v/aves  again  dance  to  the  tunes  the 
breezes  play,  and  the  little  seeds  in  the  warm 
earth,  like  loving  hearts,  are  beating  and  strug- 
gling upward  to  the  world  of  light  and  show- 
ers ;  so  may  our  hearts  pant  for  the  waters 
whose  streams  flow  fast  by  the  throne  of  God, 
and  the  smile  of  Him  whose  look  makes  the 
Ught  of  heaven. 

You  are  going  to  your  pleasant  home  ;  may 
it  be  ever  the  resting  place  of  peace  and  plen- 
ty, and  may  no  ills  come  there,  and  no  storms 
gather  to  mar  your  happiness.  The  days  1 
passed  with  you  are  with  me  yet,  like  a  dream 
ol  love  which  may  not  be  told.  True,  joy  did 
not  crowd  the  hours  with  gladness,  but  all  that 


28  A   PLACE   IN    THY  MEMORV. 

souls  can  share  we  straightway  embarlird  in 
a  Uttle  commerce  of  heart,  and  feU  our^^elves 
growing  richer  by  a  perfect  inierchar  ge  of 
views  and  feehngs.  Locke,  in  all  his  reason- 
ings, lived  not  half  so  fast.  The  world  I  live 
in  is  an  ideal  world,  and  its  inhabitants  are 
beings  of  fancy,  and  of  coarse  sinless  and 
good  ;  their  lips  speak  no  lies,  and  their  hands 
work  no  evil  ;  their  smiles  are  like  the  Ix^ams 
of  the  morning,  and  their  whispers  like  the 
night  breeze  among  the  flowers,  soft  and  heal- 
ing as  the  breath  of  prayer.  Still,  Jenny,  this 
morning  my  imprisoned  spirit  would  go  into 
raptures  for  one  glance  at  this  world  of  light ; 
oh  yes,  I  would  bow  in  grateful  adoration  for 
the  fragment  beam  that  plays  idly  on  an  in- 
fant's tear,  or  sports  with  a  drop  of  dew.  Oh 
holy  light  !  thou  art  old  as  the  look  of  God, 
and  eternal  as  his  breath.  The  angels  weie 
rocked  in  thy  lap,  and  their  infant  smiles  were 
brightened  by  thee.  Creation  is  in  thy  memory  ; 
by  thy  torch  the  throne  of  Jehovah  was  set, 
and  thy  hand  burnished  the  myriad  stars  that 
glitter  in  his  crown.  Worlds,  new,  from  His 
omnipotent  hand,  were  sprinkled  with  bearrus 


IWOCATICN  TO  i.iGjrr. 


29 


from  tliy  baptismal  font.  At  thy  golden  urn 
pale  Luna  comes  to  fill  her  silver  horn,  and 
Saturn  l)athes  his  sky-girt  rings;  Jupiter  lights 
his  waning  moons,  and  Venus  dips  her  queenly 
robes  anew.  Thy  fountains  are  shoreless  as 
the  ocean  ol  heavenly  love,  thy  centre  is  every 
where,  and  thy  bouudary  no  power  has  marked. 
Thy  beams  gild  the  illimitable  fields  of  space, 
and  gladden  the  farthest  verge  of  the  universe. 
The  glories  of  the  seventh  heaven  are  opeu  to 
^  thy  gaze,  and  thy  glare  is  felt  in  the  woes  oi 
lowest  Erebus.  The  sealed  books  oi  heaven 
by  thee  are  read,  and  thine  eye,  like  the  Infi- 
nite, can  pierce  the  dark  veil  of  the  future,  and 
glance  backward  through  the  mystic  cycles  of 
the  past.  Thy  touch  gives  the  lily  its  white- 
ness, the  rose  its  tint,  and  thy  kindling  ray 
makes  the  diamond's  light;  thy  beams  are 
mighty  as  the  power  that  binds  the  spheres: 
thou  canst  change  the  sleety  winds  to  soothing 
zephyrs,  and  thou  canst  melt  the  icy  moun- 
tains of  the  poles  to  gentle  rains  and  dewy 
vapors.  The  granite  rocks  of  the  hills  arc 
upturned  by  thee,  volcanoes  burst,  islands  sink 
and  rise,  rivers  roll,  and  oceans  swell  at  thy 


30  A   PLACE   IN    THY  xMEMORy- 

look  of  command.  And  oh,  thou  monarch  ot 
the  slvics,  hend  now  thy  bow  of  miUioned  ar- 
rows and  pierce,  if  thou  canst,  this  darkness 
that  thrice  twelve  moons  has  bound  me.  Burst 
now  thine  emerald  gates,  O  morn,  and  let  tliy 
dawning  come.  My  eyes  roll  in  vain  to  find 
thee,  and  my  soul  is  weary  of  this  intermi- 
nable gloom.  My  heart  is  but  the  tomb  ot 
blighted  hopes,  and  all  the  misery  of  feelings 
unemployed  has  settled  on  me.  I  am  misfor- 
tune's child,  and  sorrow  long  since  marked  me 
for  her  own.  The  past  comes  back,  robed  in 
a  pall,  which  makes  all  things  dark.  The 
future  seems  a  rayless  night,  and  the  world 
does  not  always  deal  gentl)^,  even  with  one  so 
sorrowed. 

The  sea  of  feeling,  however  calm,  may  be 
rippled  by  a  breath,  swollen  by  a  word,  clouded 
by  a  look,  and  lashed  into  fury  by  an  act.  But 
love  like  thine,  is  slow  to  censure,  suspects 
never,  and  believes  not  till  evidence  looL 
her  so  full  in  the  face  that  there  be  no  room 
for  mistake ;  and  even  then  she  teaches  rather 
pity  than  blame,  rather  forgives  than  con- 
demns, and  lets  compassion  cover  the  enors 


JOURNEYING  ALONE. 


31 


and  faults  that  Charity  cannot  hide.  Out  of 
Leaven,  and  the  Bible,  there  is  nothing  so  pure 
as  that  love  which  makes  us  forget  ourselves 
and  live  unto  others.  The  last  time  Eve  wan- 
deicd  througli  Eden's  bowers  of  celestial  ama- 
ranth, the  angels,  betokening  her  departure, 
gave  her  many  flowers,  which  she  twined  in 
her  hair,  and  wore  on  her  neck,  all,  save  one, 
a  love  blossom,  which  she  pressed  to  her  breast, 
and  the  approving  smile  of  all  the  angels 
quickened  its  fainting  leaves  into  life,  and  il 
took  root  in  her  heart;  and  so,  evermore,  the 

children  of  Eve  are  inclined  to  love.  *  * 
#####*### 


Rocliesier.  July  1st,  1847. 

MucH-LovED  Mrs.  Buckley,  far  away  : — 
My  Institution  friends  thouglit  it  presumptuous 
for  me  to  journey  to  Rochester  alone,  and  the 
Superintendent  laughed  when  1  told  him  the 
angels  would  take  care  of  me.  Their  care  was 
needful,  too,  for  I  began  my  journey  quite  un- 


32 


A    PLA'JF    IN   THY  MEMOKY. 


incumbered  with  money,  ordinarily  so  essential 
to  ihii  traveller.  The  good^  men  do  should 
be  known  ;  their  better  deeds  often  are  told. 
The  world  has  bad  notions  of  itself;  it  is  not 
a  selfish,  but  an  unselfish  world — a  kind,  a 
loving,  and  a  forgiving  world — more  sunshine 
than  storms,  more  smiles  than  frowns  or  tears. 
Men  ofteiier  love  than  hate,  oftener  do  good 
than  ill.  This  is  not  the  best  world  we  arc  to 
know  ;  but  it  is  next  the  best,  and  only  a  step 
lies  between.  Heaven  is  near  the  good,  so  near 
that  loved  ones,  who  inhabit  there,  are  with  us 
still.  Stars  unseen  hang  over  us  by  day ;  so 
spirits  from  beyond  the  sky  hang  round  our 
pathway,  whispering  words  kind  as  heaven, 
on  every  breeze  that  fans  our  ears.  We  hear 
and  follow  them,  but,  like  Samuel,  fancying 
some  Eli  is  calling. 

Wishing  to  call  at  Catskill,  I  went  on  board 
the  Utica.  Your  father  met  me  there,  with 
blessings  in  his  heart  and  hand.  "  May  God 
preserve  and  protect  you,  and  in  due  time  re- 
turn you  to  us,"  said  he,  and  departed.  The 
sun  went  down  ;  the  moon  and  stars,  those  i 
symbols  of  love  in  heaven,  v/ere  in  the  sky; 


SCENERY   OF  THE   HUDSON.  Ii3 

the  air  was  calm  and  inviting,  even  to  "  spir- 
its of  purity."  Those  whose  eyes  are  folded 
have  a  quicker  sense  than  sight,  by  which  they 
know  and  feel  when  a  fixed  gaze  is  on  them. 
Only  one  lady  remained  with  me  in  the  cabin  ; 
at  length,  with  her  babe  in  her  arms,  she  came, 
and  placing  her  lips  close  to  my  ear,  as  if  she 
thought  me  deaf,  screamed,  "  Be  you  blind  ?" 
"  Certainly,"  I  said,  smiling.  Watching  me  a 
moment  longer,  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  satisfac- 
tion. Well,  I  don't  judge  from  your  looks  you 
feel  very  bad  about  it !"  "  No,"  I  replied, 
"  grieving  never  restores  its  object,  so  we  must 
learn  to  bear,  and  blame  not  that  which  we 
cannot  change."  Presently  a  Miss,  with  a  voice 
hke  music's  self,  placed  her  httle  hand  in  mine, 
saying,  "  It  is  delightful  out ;  I  know  you  can- 
not see  the  things  we  are  passing,  but  I  will 
describe  them  to  you."  I  took  her  arm,  and 
we  were  hardly  seated  on  deck  when  the  Cap- 
tain joined  our  number,  talking  familiarly  of 
the  beautiful  scenery  which  every  where  adorns 
the  Hudson  ;  "  the  proudest  stream  that  jour- 
neys to  the  sea."  "  Yonder,"  said  he,  "  is 
Washington  Irving's  delightful  residence,  so 


34 


buried  in  shrubs  and  trees,  one  can  onl}''  see 
the  steeple ;  which  has  on  it  a  weather-cock 
taken  from  the  ship  in  wliich  Major  Andre  was 
to  have  sailed."  A  gentleman  is  most  eloquent 
when  he  has  attentive  lady  listeners ;  and 
while  we  rode  over  the  rippling  waters,  my 
thoughts  gathered  many  new  and  beautiful 
images ;  and  Memory,  the  mind's  mirror,  still 
treasures  daguerreotypes  of  them  all. 

My  visit  in  Catskill,  with  Mrs.  Wilson  and 
daughters,  at  their  cottage  home,  was  like  a 
scene  in  a  fairy  land.  As  "  distance  lends  en- 
chantment to  the  view,"  so  time  enhances  de- 
parted joys.  On  board  the  Alida  for  Albany, 
bhnd  and  alone,  among  strangers,  I  began  to 
fear  lest  Mr.  Dawson  should  not  get  my  note 
and  come  for  me  at  the  boat.  But  the  angels 
never  fail  to  do  their  bidding.  Strangers  often 
prove  the  best  of  friends.  Lo !  I  am  with 
you  alway  !"  is  not  a  promise,  but  a  declara- 
tion. Mrs.  Thomas,  her  husband  and  daugh- 
ter, from  New- York,  recognizing  my  baggage- 
mark,  sought  me  out ;  and,  in  their  society, 
the  horns  went  unnumbered  by.  When  we 
stopped  the3r  would  have  taken  me  with  them 


A   KINDLY  TREAD. 


35 


to  CongivsR  Hall,  but  the  Captain  kindly  of- 
fered; if  my  friends  should  not  come,  to  see  me 
safe  at  his  home.  All  left  the  saloon,  but  I 
had  not  waited  long,  when  a  gentleman  with 
a  kindly  tread  came,  saying,  "Your  friend, 
Mr.  D.,  is  in  Michigan,  but,  if  you  please,  I 
will  see  you  to  his  residence."  He  then  se- 
cured my  baggage,  gave  me  his  arm,  and  wg 
were  away,  talking  so  familiarly  of  life,  it.*^: 
changes,  books,  and  places,  that  I  forgot  he 
was  a  stranger,  and  thought  I  had  known  him 
always.  I  knew  by  his  voice  he  had  seen 
many  years,  and  by  his  words,  as  Pinckne^/ 
says,  he  had 

"  A  heart  that  can  feel  and  a  hand  that  can  act." 

He  left,  saying,  "  In  the  morning  I  will 
either  come  or  send  my  son  with  a  carriage  to 
take  you  to  the  depot."  My  ministering 
angel,  this  time,  was  Thurlow  Weed,  of 
Albany  ;  and,  may  the  Lord  add  to  the  length 
of  his  days  many  happy  years,  and  the  joys 
of  each  succeeding  be  multiplied  by  the  joys 
of  the  last ! 


so 


A   PLACE   IN   ThY  MEMORY. 


In  the  foreiioouj  my  scat  in  the  car  was 
shared  by  an  aged  sire,  who  beguiled  the 
hours  with  pleasing  incidents.  In  the  atter- 
iioon,  a  Scotchmanj  from  the  banks  of  the 
Clyde,  entertained  me  with  descriptions  of  tlie 
Highlands.  Eloquent  lips  are  a  good  substi- 
tute for  eyes.  He  was  present  when  Leopold, 
in  sable  robes  for  his  Charlotte,  was  ambas- 
sador for  George  the  Fourth  to  Edinburgh. 
Yvith  the  fleetness  of  fancy,  I  became  not 
only  a  looker  on,  but  an  actor  in  all  that 
bi  illiant  scene.  The  splendid  streets,  and  edi- 
fices, the  dazzling  crowd,  the  royal  equipage, 
the  high-headed  and  high-souled  officers,  the 
elegantly  set  tables  and  brilliant  guests,  he  de- 
scribed as  if  with  them  but  yesterday.  Who- 
ever he  was,  his  happiness  was  greatest  when 
contributing  most  to  the  happiness  of  others. 
It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  hear 
him  repeat  snatches  from  Burns,  in  the  full 
spirit  of  the  great  Poet ;  who  was,  he  said,  one 
of  Nature's  own  nobility.       #       *  # 

At  Pittsford,  resting  by  the  way  with  friends 
oi  lighter  days,  a  note  from  Mrs.  H.,  of  Ro- 
chester, welcomed  me  for  a  time  to  her  home. 


GENES  t:E. 


37 


whore  we  icad,  ride,  walk,  and  talk  the  days 
away.  Jiiz/.y  and  Mary,  too,  with  gentle 
hands,  come  often  to  lead  me  by  pleasant 
ways;  now  where  the  Genesee  leaps  tlumder- 
mg  from  the  rocks,  and  now  where  it  winds 
noiseless  to  the  sleeping  lake,  always  mention- 
ing in  Avords  like  pictures,  every  tree,  shrub 
and  flower.  They  tell  me  when  we  are  at  the 
corner  of  a  new  building,  walking  to  the  other 
gives  its  length,  and  knowing  the  number  of 
stories,  imagination  readily  makes  the  view 
her  own ;  thus  I  keep  in  mind  the  many 
changes  of  our  growing  city.  If  Oswald's 
Corbine  was  more  eloquent  she  was  not  more 
kind,  nor  her  love  more  true.  My  poor  eyes 
cannot  see  them,  but  I  know  looks  of  love  are 
on  their  faces,  such  as  pitying  angels  wear. 
Gratitude  is  the  most  heavenly  inhabitant  of 
the  human  breast,  and  though  shut  out  from 
its  beauties,  it  is  still  a  blessing  to  exist  in  so 
good  a  world. 

When  the  Autumn  winds  begin  to  moan 
among  the  trees,  the  members  of  the  New- 
York  Institution  for  the  Blind  will  meet  again 
at  their  happy  home,  where  may  the  angels 


3y  A   PLACE   IN   TUV  MEMORY. 

bring  yoii  often.  Oh  !  you  never  seemed  &; 
near,  so  dear,  as  now.  Accept  my  heart's  love, 
sealed  with  a  friendship's  kiss.  As  Burns  says, 
— "  A  heart- warm,  fond  good-by." 

N.  B.  A  lady  never  writes  a  letter  without 
a  postscript.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  my  jour- 
ney home  cost  me  notliing.  Captains,  railroad 
conductors  and  all,  instead  of  presenting  theii 
bills,  inquired  how  they  could  best  serve  me, 
where  I  v/ould  stop,  &c.  Ought  not  even  the 
blind  to  be  joyous  and  happy  in  a  land  so 
kind,  so  free,  as  ours  ? 

«  «  «  «  # 

Our  nature  is  threefold,  or  in  other  words, 
we  seem  to  be  made  up  of  three  distinct  be- 
ings, or  sets  of  energies ;  mental,  moral,  and 
physical;  and  it  is  the  strange  mingling  and 
commingling  of  these,  and  their  effects  and 
influences  upon  each  other,  that  produce  what 
is  called  character.  When  God  made  man,  he 
did  not  intend  his  strongest  powers  should  rule, 
but  the  best ;  but  contrary  to  his  wish,  in  most 
persons,  the  seat  of  government  is  ])lanted  in 
the  mind  instead  of  the  h-eart ;  and^reason  is 


EDUCATION. 


39 


allowed  to  sway  her  glittering  sceptre  ovei 
those  inhabitants  of  the  soul,  love,  charity, 
gratitude,  faith,  and  hope,  which  were  intend- 
ed to  be  free,  or  governed  only  by  heaven's 
golden  rules.  Byron  was  an  example  in  j 
whose  character  it  was  difficult  to  say  whe- 
ther the  mental  or  physical  powers  had  the 
sway  ;  and  so  of  Pope,  and  the  selfish  Wal- 
pole.  VTb.O;  in  reading  the  beautiful  songs  of 
Montgomery  and  Kirke  White,  does  not  fee', 
tbat  they  came  from  a  source  entirely  differ- 
oht.  Indeed,  in  the  one  case  we  seem  com- 
numing  with  spirits,  whose  very  breath  was 
warm  with  love  from  heaven ;  and  in  the 
other,  with  bemgs  whose  thoughts  were  in- 
spired only  in  the  gloom  of  night,  and  the  sul- 
lenness  of  despair.  Now  education  and  man- 
ner of  living  have  much  to  do  with  this.  If 
books  are  placed  before  us  which  only  encour- 
age the  ambition,  and  adorn  and  dignify  the 
mmd,  and  our  food  be  such  as  stimulates  and 
cultivates  the  less  ennobling  passions,  though 
apparently  simple  in  themselves,  they  are, 
nevertheless,  in  tlieir  effects  lasting  as  eternity. 
A.  child,  who  before  his  morning  meal  has 


40 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORV. 


learned  to  whisper  the  name  of  Jesus  in  tiiank 
fulness  and  prayer,  and  at  night  holds  his  little 
heart  up  to  God  for  blessings,  when  he  grows 
to  be  a  man  will  hardly  go  astray,  or  allow 
the  impulses  of  his  nature  to  be  governed  by 
a  thing  so  cold  and  calculating  as  human  rea- 
son ;  far  otherwise ;  you  will  find  him  inquir- 
ing of  God,  and  his  own  conscience,  the  way 
of  duty,  and  you  will  see  him  always  forget 
ting  himself  and  trying  to  make  others  happy. 
These  thoughts  are  not  too  sober  even  for  a 
school-girl ;  you  are  now  building  a  character 
for  yourself,  of  which  the  lessons  and  exercises 
of  each  day  form  a  part.  No  after  time  can 
efface  the  consequences  of  one  act,  or  the  influ- 
ence of  one  word,  either  upon  ourselves  or 
those  around  us.  To  get  your  lessons  per- 
fectly and  recite  them,  is  not  all  you  have  to 
do.  A.  boarding-school  is  a  little  community 
by  itself,  in  which  each  room  answers  to  a 
dwelling,  whose  inhabitants  we  may  call  our 
neighbors ;  and  here  we  have  a  field,  into 
which  we  may  bring  into  exercise  all  our 
capacities,  both  mental  and  moral.  Here  we 
may  plant  the  germs  of  philanthropy  and  reli- 


GUARDIAN  ANGELS. 


41 


gioiis  zoal  ;  here  we  may  learn  to  ^\:y  away 
the  tear  of  sorrow,  and  smooth  the  pillow  oi 
the  sich.  and  })ity  those  who  suffer.  That 
beautiful  command,  that  the  strong  should 
bear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak,  seems  written 
almost  expressly  for  the  members  of  a  school, 
for  we  cannot  all  gather  knowledge  with  the 
same  facility.  A  lesson  that  is  sport  for  one, 
is  a  hard  task  for  another.  My  dear,  we  have 
guardian  angels  who  ev(^ry  day  bear  reports 
to  heaven  of  our  doings  here,  and  when  the 
books  are  opened  we  must  answer  for  the  re- 
cord they  have  kept.  From  this  hour,  then, 
seek  to  know  and  do  the  will  of  your  Hea- 
venly Father.  First  see  that  your  thoughts 
are  clothed  with  the  precepts  of  his  word,  and 
w\\i\3  you  journey  upward  in  hfe's  mountain 
path,  set  on  either  side  with  briers  and  thorns, 
though  your  pilgrim  feet  may  be  often  torn  by 
flinty  rocks  you  need  not  fear ;  for  our  Saviour 
lias  said,  "  Lo,  I  am  with  you  always,  even  tc 
the  end  of  the  world." 


A  PLACE   Ix\   THY  MEMORY. 


Rochester,  Lizzy'' s  Home. 

The  friendship  of  the  good  is  a  refuge  that 
ails  not,  a  treasure  that  angels  prize,  and  in 
their  diadems  it  is  set  round  with  virtue,  love, 
and  truth. 

My  dear  Augusta,  as  the  flowers  at  eve 
incline  their  heads  to  departing  sunbeams,  so 
my  spirit  is  drawn  tovv^ards  you,  wander  where 
I  will.  The  love  that  does  not  end  in  this 
life,  often  ends  with  it ;  but  the  chain  which 
binds  our  hearts  has  no  broken  links,  and  while 
life  lasts,  and  beyond  the  sky,  it  v/ill  draw  us 
together  still.  Loved  one,  where  are  you? 
Oh  speak,  I  long  to  hear  your  words  ;  they 
were  music  that  fell  on  my  ears  and  sank 
down  into  my  heart,  filling  it  with  joys  too 
much  like  heaven  to  fade  or  pass  away.  It  is 
a  long  time  since  I  have  felt  your  friendly 
arms  around  my  neck,  and  your  kisses  on  my 
lips,  and  I  often  wonder  if  time  and  distance 
have  not  altogether  estranged  me  from  your 
thoughts.  I  know  your  other  self,  and  those 
little  ones  who  clamber  by  your  side  have 
right  to  the  highest  seat  in  your  affections  ; 


A   MOTHER  S   SMILE.  43 

and  your  heart's  temple,  liglited  by  a  mother^s 
smile,  should  be  to  them  earth's  fairest  home  ; 
and  there,  dearest,  I  would  have  them  eve 
stay  and  worship  undisturbed  at  love's  holiest 
altar,  only  let  me  share  largely  in  your  general 
love,  and  I  shall  be  therewith  content.  But 
think  of  me  sometimes,  oftenest  when  you 
bow  your  heart  at  mercy's  throne ; 

Ask  for  me  heaven's  blessings  there, 
In  the  ardent  hope  of  faith  in  prayer. 

I  am  passing  the  winter  far  away  by  the 
Genesee,  where  with  the  wild  flowers  my 
infancy  grew  ;  to-day  the  liquid  thunders  of  its 
talis  mingle  with  the  winds  ;  and  storms  are 
gathering  as  on  the  day  v/hen  you  came  first 
with  books  and  papers  to  read  to  me  in  the 
New- York  lustitution  for  the  Blind.  No  time  or 
place  is  so  dear  to  memory  as  where  the  sor- 
rowed heart  has  been  blest,  and  its  burdens 
a  while  borne  by  another ;  where  the  bereaved 
fcelnigs  have  been  coaxed  to  leave  their  sad- 
aess,  and  their  tears  dried  by  the  hand  of 
sympathy  and  love.   A  stranger  in  New- York, 


44 


A  TlACe  in  thy  memory. 


shut  up  ui  that  school  for  the  afflicted,  lio-w 
found  I  such  a  lodgment  in  your  sympathies; 
and  wliat  spirit  moved  you  to  come  so  often  to 
beguile  my  lonely  hours ;  to  take  me  to  your 
pleasant  home  ;  to  church,  and  every  wlicre  I 
wished  to  go  ?  If  one  good  act  pleases  God 
more  than  another,  it  must  be  such  forgetful- 
iiess  of  self,  such  desire  to  make  others  happy. 

Last  week  Mr.  and  Mrs.  H   left  Roches- 
ter for  Boston.  The  day  previous  to  theii 
departure,  the  Sewing  Society  of  their  church 
met  at  the  house  of  my  venerable  friend  Dr. 
Brown.  "The  weight  of  years  is  on  him  now, 
and  his  locks  aie  changed  to  the  gray  fila- 
ments of  wisdom  ;  but  his  heart  is  young, 
and  his  mind  is  active  as  ever :  and  with  the 
sweet  consciousness  of  a  life  well  spent,  he 
Vv'aits  only  for  his  Master  to  call  him  home. 
Towards  evening  all  the  ladies  were  assem 

bling  in  the  Doctor's  room,  when  Mrs.  H  ^ 

ignorant  of  the  cause,  said  to  him,  "  Doctor, 
you  seem  to  be  the  greatest  attraction  of  the 
day w^hereupon  an  elderly  lady  entered, 

and  approached  Mrs.  H  ,  bearing  in  her 

hand  a  silver  waiter,  and  some  napkin  riiigg 


BRFAD   UPON   THE  WATERS. 


45 


for  her  ^^liildrcn.  This  needed  no  explana- 
tion ;  their  choked  feehngs  refused  words  ;  the 
light  of  the  past  was  on  them,  and  with  these 
beautiftd  expressions  of  gratitude  and  love 
between  them,  they  and  all  present  wept  over 
remembered  kindnesses,  and  ties  soon  to  be 
seveied  for  ever.  I  said  in  my  heart,  behold 
how  these  sisters  love  one  another,  and  no 
wonder ;  their  joint  labors  have  clothed  the 
destitute,  fed  the  hungry,  blessed  the  sick,  and 
relieved  suffering  of  every  order.  In  a  word, 
they  have  long  "  shared  each  other's  glad- 
ness, and  \vept  each  other's  tears."  In  the 
evening  Dr.  Brown  presented  his  son  for  bap* 
tism,  a  lad  of  some  nine  or  ten  years — the 
child  of  his  old  age.  Several  other  parents 
did  the  same,  and  thus  closed  the  labors  of  Mr. 
n.  in  Rochester.  But  tha good  that  men  do  lives 
aftei  them.  Like  bread  upon  the  waters,  il 
not  realized  now  it  will  be  gathered  hereafter. 
When  Mr.  H.  came  to  Rochester,  his  people 
were  few  in  number,  now  they  are  a  flourish^ 
mg  society;  they  have  a  beautiful  church,  an 
organ,  and  the  largest  parish  library  in  the 
city. — But  this  is  little,  compared  with  th-e 


46 


A   PLACE   J\   THY  MEMORY. 


hundreds  his  hidefatigable  labors  liave  saved 
IVoiJi  vice,  and  the  many  who  by  his  precept 
and  example  iiave  learned  the  luxury  of  doing 
good.  I  am  passing  a  few  days  wich  my 
friend  Lizzy  at  her  new  home. 

My  poor  eyes  did  not  see  her  exchange  her 
hand  for  another's,  but  I  heard  her  breathe  hei 
lieart  away  in  words  low  and  truthful  as  angel 
vows.  Her  empire  now  is  the  domestic  circle  ; 
her  might  is  gentleness,  and  by  it  she  winneth 
sway  over  all  hearts  that  come  within  her  bor- 
ders. Lizzy  is  reading  me  Goldsmith,  and  as 
we  turn  his  pages  our  gatherings  are  ''^  gold  all 
the  way."  It  is  safe  reading  authors  one  may 
love  as  well  as  their  v/ritings.  Byron  kindled 
his  imagination  by  the  dark  and  turbid  waters 
of  Acheron.  Goldsmith  v/andered  by  the 
river  of  life,  where  from  the  fountain  of  his 
own  feelings,  and  the  society  of  the  good,  he 
gathered  his  pure  thoughts,  and  his  chaste  and 
bvoaiitifal  play  of  ideality,  which  instruct  and 
enrapture  the  reader.  Poor  Goldsmith,  poverty 
and  want  ever  hung  heav^y  at  his  heart;  and 
his  haunts  still  echo  with  his  groans.  But  he 
went  up  the  great  highway  to  distinction,  and 


MARBLE  PAGES 


41 


77reat]ied  iqton  his  brow  crowns  woven  of  im- 
Diortal  laurels.  P(jvcrty  is  truly  the  cradle  of 
gf?niiis;  man  obtains  no  excellence  without 
labor.  The  master-spirits  of  all  ages,  who 
have  dazzled  the  world  with  their  brilliant 
achievements,  had  barriers  to  surmount,  diffi- 
culties to  remove,  and  only  as  they  regulated 
their  exertions  by  mental  firmness  did  they 
become  learned,  great,  or  good.  An  ancient 
poet  had  for  his  motto,  "  The  daring  fortune 
favors."  An  American  divine  says,  "  In  great 
and  good  pursuits,  it  is  honorable,  it  is  right, 
to  use  that  kind  of  omnipotence  which  says  1 
tvlll,  and  the  work  is  done." 

Oh  my  dear  Augusta,  is  it  possible  I  am 
never  to  read  any  more  ?  I  forgot  to  bring  a 
volume  in  raised  print  from  the  Institution,  but 
passing  one's  fingers  over  the  pages  of  a  book 
is  very  unlike  the  glance  of  the  eye.  Last 
summer  quite  in  the  verge  of  autumn,  my 
friend  Mrs.  Snow  came  with  her  ponies  to  take 
me  riding.  We  crossed  twice  the  Genesee, 
then  pursued  its  windings,  till  we  came  where 
the  sun's  rays  were  turned  away  by  the  forest 
trees ;  and  the  sharp  quick  noise  of  the  cai- 


48 


A   PLACE   IN   Tliy  IMKMdRY. 


riage  wheels,  changed  to  a  muffled  rninbliugi 
and  as  we  rode  slowly  over  the  winding  roads, 
all  was  so  sacredly  silent  there,  the  hushed 
breeze  that  stirred  the  leaves  seemed  the 
breath  of  prayer.  It  was  Mount  Hope,  our 
beautiliil  home  for  the  dead  ;  and  as  we  wan- 
dered among  the  tombs  and  monuments,  my 
fingers  read  their  inscriptions  in  grooved  and 
raised  letters. 

"  The  most  beloved  of  earth  not  long  survive  to-day." 

My  dear  Franky  lies  there,  and  her  darling 
babe  is  sleeping  by  her  side  ;  so  quick  sorrow 
treads  upon  the  heels  of  joy.  Grave-yards  are 
solenm  volumes,  in  which  even  the  blind  may 
read  upon  their  marble  pages  the  records  of 
hopes  all  departed.  Dear  Augusta,  mine  hour 
of  loneliness  is  passing  now,  and  I  feel  reluc- 
tant to  close  this  letter  as  I  would  an  interview 
with  yourself.  When  the  tlov/ers  unfold  their 
leaves,  and  the  birds  come  back  again,  T  shall 
return  to  the  Institution,  and  resume  my  mu- 
sic. There  I  shall  be  far,  far  away  from  my 
Rochester  friends,  who  are  so  kind,  so  very 
kind.    I  often  think  the  v/orld  must  have 


REVERIE. 


49 


grown  better  since  I  could  see.  But,  fiiend  of 
my  heart,  you  will  come  often  to  see  me,  and  I 
sliail  love  you  well. 


InstUution  for  the  Band. 

My  dear  Parents  far  away: — When  1 
left  your  cottage  home,  the  sleety  winds  of 
early  Spring  were  blowing  high,  and  the  Cro- 
cuses were  liardly  yet  above  the  ground.  At 
your  httle  threshold,  you  kissed  me  good-by, 
and  I  felt  your  tears  warm  on  my  cheeks 
You  pressed  my  [lands,  and  father  said,  God 
bless  ^^ou,  my  child,  and  I  rode  away.  Words 
are  not  feelings,  so  1  can  never  make  you  knov/ 
the  strange  sensations  that  nestled  in  my  soul, 
while  I  crossed  the  hills  that  windy  day. 
Sometimes  I  fell  into  mysterious  reveries,  and 
fancied  my  journey  home,  my  stay  with  you 
and  my  departure,  all  an  unfinished  dream, 
and  thought  soon  to  awaken  and  fmd  it  s-o. 
Then  I  changed  my  position,  and  tried  to  open 
my  eyes  to  see  if  the  morning  had  not  come. 


50  A   ri.ACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

Thon  I  heaid  distinctly  tlie  rumbling  of  the 
stage  wheels,  the  rattling  of  the  harness,  and 
the  tread  of  the  horses,  and  cracking  of  tne 
diiver's  whip,  and  the  frequent  passing  of  far- 
mers' teams ;  no  I  said  this  is  real^  I  am  not 
dreaming.  Then  I  turned  my  face  to  the 
stage  window,  and  felt  the  biting  wind  as  it 
whistled  by,  but  all  around  and  above  I  could 
see  nothing  but  clouds  of  folding  darkness, 
''.rhen  I  sank  back,  and  my  spirit  reeled  be- 
neath the  awful  weight  of  conscious  blindness 
which  like  a  mountain  seemed  falhng  on  me, 
and  hiding  me  from  the  world  for  ever.  Still 
I  did  not  weep.  I  have  no  longer  any  tears  to 
shed.  My  heart  has  known  a  grief  so  burn- 
ing, that  dews  and  moisture  never  more  gather 
there.  Like  a  seared  forest  its  blossoms  aie 
all  faded,  and  its  leaves  are  withered  and 
fallen  I  remain  two  weeks  by  the 

baiilcs  of  the  Giienaugua. 

The  night  before  my  departure,  some  fa- 
vored ones  of  Apollo  sang  under  my  window 
that  sv/eetest  of  songs, 

**  We  will  welcome  thee  back  again;'* 


WORDS   ARE   NOT   FEELINGS.  51 

and  another,  only  one  couplet  of  which  I  re- 
member, 

**  'Tis  needful  we  watch  thee  by  day. 
But  the  Angel?  will  keep  thee  by  night.'.' 

Professions  of  love*  and  friendship  cost  us 
nothing.  AVords  are  wind,  and  feelings  are 
only  natural  swellings  of  the  heart;  but  acts 
are  living  things,  like  facts  they  are  stubborn 
and  everlasting,  and  good  de^eds  are  footsteps 
in  the  ladder  which  reaches  heaven.  I  cannot 
count  the  days  of  my  stay  at  Geneva,  for  hap- 
piness keeps  no  dial,  and  always  forgets  to 
number  the  hoiu's.  If  the  scenery  of  a  place 
ov^er  gives  tone  to  the  minds  and  hearts  of  its 
inhabitants,  I  am  sure  the  beautiful  Seneca 
has  lent  its  look  of  love  to  those  who  dwell  by 
its  shore.  On  their  homes  may  the  rains  and 
dev/s  never  cease  to  fall,  and  the  light  of  health 
and  peace  never  leave  their  brows.  Eliza 
read  to  me  nearly  two  volumes  of  Littell's 
1  'iving  Age.  In  one  of  the  back  numbers.  Fa- 
ther, you  will  find  a  review  of  Swedenborg. 
I  wish  you  would  read  it,  and  write  me  what 
you  think  of  it.   I  send  with  this  a  volume  of 


52 


Macaiila^^'s  Miscellanies.  I  know  you  \\}\\  he 
pleased  with  what  he  says  of  the  life  and  times 
of  Milton  and  Cromwell.  But  in  oi'dcr  to  en- 
joy his  reviews  generallj^,  one  must  divest  his 
mind  of  all  prejudice,  and  harbor  only  a  spirit 
of  liberal  Christianity  and  free  toleration,  for 
such  is  certainly  the  spirit  of  the  great  author. 
The  type  is  very  fine,  but  I  think,  by  the  aid 
of  your  new  glasses,  you  will  be  able  to  read 
it.  But  you  must  remember,  Father,  that  you. 
physical  energies  are  not  what  they  were 
twenty,  or  even  ten  years  ago;  besides,  eyes 
both  younger  and  stronger  than  yours  are 
often  materially  injured  by  lamp  light.  Mary 
must  read  for  you  evenings ;  that  will  relieve 
you  and  impiove  her.  Nin  writes  that  she  has 
nearly  completed  the  works  of  Hannah  More, 
and  the  poems  of  Mrs.  Henians.  Though  she 
may  never  possess  the  elegance  and  varied 
learning  of  the  one,  nor  the  beautiful  genius  of 
the  other,  still  like  them  both,  I  hope,  she  will 
try  to  live  such  a  life  only  as  woman  should 
live,  adorned  by  every  virtue,  and  marred  by 
no  error.  Brother  must  not  think  he  has  com- 
pleted all  of  Parley's  tales,  because  he  has  read 


REMINISCENCES.  53 

one  litde  book  through.  I  do  not  know  how 
many  vohimes  there  are,  but  they  akogether 
make  quite  a  hbrary,  and  they  contain  a  vast 
deal  of  exceUent  reading,  both  for  old  and 
young. 


New-York  InsiituLion foi  the  Blind. 

Deah  Cora  : — The  murmurs  of  the  Genesee 
are  in  my  thoughts  to-night,  and  voices  dear 
as  home  words,  have  been  falling  on  my  ear, 
till  1  seem  again  surrounded  by  those  who 
pitied  and  loved  me  long  ago ;  whose  homes 
were  ever  open  for  my  reception,  and  their 
hands  were  never  wearied  with  ministering  to 
my  wants. 

The  impressions  of  sound  are  much  deeper 
and  more  lasting  than  those  of  sight,  conse- 
quently the  memories  of  the  blind  are  always 
keepsakes  of  the  heart.  Another  year  has  gone 
by,  and  I  have  yet  no  abiding  place,  save  in 
the  sympathies  of  friends — but  like  the  wound- 
od  oyster  who  lines  his  shell  with  pearl,  1 
would,  by  gentle  love,  make  the  dwellings  I 


54  \  PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY, 

inhabit  more  pure  and  white.  We  cease  to 
Uve  when  we  have  no  longer  something  to  do 
or  bear ;  then  why  flee  from  ill,  or  pity  those 
who  sufier  ?  Dews  of  the  night  are  diamonds 
at  morn,  so  the  tears  we  weep  here  may  be 
pearls  in  heaven  ;  and  we  have  little  cause  to 
mourn  over  the  wi'feck  of  hopes,  when  it  opens 
the  heart  to  a  brighter  sunshine,  whose  warm 
light  melts  its  ice  to  running  streams,  and  cov- 
ers its  crags  and  cliffs  with  blossoms,  and  plants 
along  its  rough  ways  trees  whose  fruits  and 
leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 

On  Thanksgiving  day,  through  the  kindness 

of  Mr.  Dean,  I  heard  Mr.  .    New- York 

has  many  eloquent  men,  but  I  have  never 
heard  one  whose  style  is  so  richly  beautiful, 
whose  words  are  so  select,  and  whose  zeal 
seems  so  perfectly  what  the  apostle  calls  ac- 
cording to  knowledge.  Tolerant  towards  all 
denominations,  liberal  in  his  views,  more  than 
cordial  in  his  feelings,  he  seems  to  have  a  heai1 
that  could  gather  in  all  the  world,  and  yet 
have  room  to  spare. 

I  love  such  spirits  ;  they  are  the  lights  of  the 
ag*3 ;  benigs  whom  heaven  has  destined  to 


THANKSGIVING.  5i 

leave  foot-pniits  on  the  sands  of  time way- 
marks  to  all  who  would  be  wise,  great,  and 
good. 

Mr.    is  but  a  few  weeks  home  from 

Europe,  and  his  imagery  seems  fresh  as  the 
sunny  vales  of  England,  grand  as  the  glaciers 
'of  Switzerfand,  sublime  as  the  scenery  of  the 
Rhine,  clear  and  enrapturing  as  Italy's  bowers 
where  her  time-honored  painters  drew,  and 
where  the  sons  of  genius  from  all  lands  go  to 
worship  at  the  shrine  of  Art. 

For  a  northern  Thanksgiving  dinner,  roast 
turkey  is  always  first  in  the  bill  of  fare. 

My  friend  Mr.  B  ,  with  whom  I  dined,  is  a 

right  true  son  of  Johnny  Bull  as  ever  lived ; 
whole-souled,  whole-hearted,  speaks  alv/ays 
what  he  thinks,  acts  just  as  he  feels,  and  his 
hospitality  makes  one  as  perfectly  at  home  as 

himself.    Mrs.  B         reminds  me  of  what  1 

once  heard  a  Swede  say  of  his  countrywoman, 
Frederica  Bremer ;  in  the  character  of  all  per- 
sons, we  ever  find  some  one  or  more  distin- 
guishing trait,  but  in  the  soul  of  Frederica 
heaven  has  happily  blended  all  excellence. 

In  the  after  neon  Mrs  B  and  I  visited 


56 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


the  paintings  at  tlic  Art  Union  ;  she  was  eyes 
for  me,  and  beautifully  described  all  ohe  saw 
The  most  clever  thing  in  the  exhibition  is  the 
Mother's  Prayer,  which,  while  you  gaze  upon 
it,  seems  to  breathe,  as  though  touched  by  the 
pencil  but  now.  I  know  not  which  to  envy 
most,  the  purchaser  or  the  artist,  who,  by  the 
way,  is  an  American.  Another  fine  thing  is  the 
"  Young  Mechanic,"  by  Mr.  Smith,  of  Ohio ; 
but  perhaps  the  most  famous  work  of  all,  is  the 
"  Voyage  of  Life,"  by  Mr.  Cole.  The  design 
is  the  Stream  of  Life,  bearing  on  its  rippled 
bosom  a  little  boat,  and  in  it  an  infant  and  an 
angel  to  guide.  Farther  on,  the  impetuous 
youth  seats  himself  at  the  helm,  dashes  fu- 
riously on  amidst  rocks  and  breakers,  so  on 
down  to  tranquil  old  age,  where  all  is  calm 
and  peaceful,  and  from  the  spirit-world  which 
opens  above,  angels  have  come  to  beckon  him 
away. 

On  our  way  from  the  gallery  we  chanced 
to  pass  the  old  Blind  Harper,  whose  voice,  like 
the  strings  of  his  worn  harp,  was  trembling  in 
the  breeze ;  and  while  I  listened  to  his  sacred 
GOiig,  he  seemed  so  like  the  weary  pilgrim  1 


THE   WORN  HARP. 


had  juc>t  heard  described  waiting  on  the  boat. 
I  ahnost  fancied  the  angels  above  watching 
the  close  of  his  strain,  to  present  him  a  new 
liarp,  tuned  for  ever  to  the  praise  of  God  and 
tlie  Lamb.  *  *  *  . 

At  our  last  examination  I  met  your  friend 
Mr.  G  ,  of  Brooklyn,  who  is  ever  a  wel- 
come visitor  at  the  New- York  Institution  for 
the  Blind.  His  voice  is  a  sort  of  watchword, 
at  which  the  Utile  folks  quit  their  play,  leave 
school  and  music,  and  run  to  greet  him.  Oh ! 
could  you  see  him  once  throw  down  his  rolls 
and  bundles  filled  with  new  dresses,  &c.,  and 
to  their  infinite  delight  unburden  his  generous 
pockets  of  crackers,  nuts,  apples,  and  candies, 
some  falling  upon  the  floor,  after  which  they 
all  scramble,  playing  the  kitten,  as  Mary  says 
v/hen  she  drops  her  ball,  until  they  find  them. 

As  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth,  so 
are  God's  ways  above  our  ways  ;  it  is  not  the 
most  useful  who  stay  longest  in  the  world,  or 
to  whom  the  power  of  doing  good  is  ]onge:.t 

preserved.    Mr.  G  ,  you  are  aware,  is  well 

known  as  a  philanthropist,  and  a  lover  of  ma" 
Kind.    No  heart  sympathizes  more  deeply  witli 
3^ 


58  A   I'LACE   IN    THY  MEMOAY. 

suffering  than  his.  and  no  hand  is  open  more 
readily  and  more  widely  to  relieve  it. 

As  the  gifted  Euler,  in  tne  Academy  of 
Sciences  in  St.  Petersburgh,  saw  his  figurea 
and  angles  fade,  and  all  objects  of  sight  pass 

into  dim  distance,  so  Mr.  G  tells  me,  the 

slow  but  sure  hand  of  cataract  is  weaving  her 
veils  before  his  sight,  which  science  has  never 
reached  and  surgery  has  rarely  turned  away. 
Already  the  morning  shines  but  dimly,  the 
noon  is  painfully  bright,  the  night  shades  are 
thick  and  foggy,  his  way  is  uncertain,  and  the 
faces  of  familiar  friends  look  strangely,  and  not 
t.ll  they  speak  does  he  know  one  from  the 
other.    One  hath  said — 

 "  to  die  is  nothing. 

But  to  live  and  not  see  is  misfortune." 

But  it  will  not  be  so  with  Mr.  G  -.  As 

Huber  knew  bees  and  their  habits  before  his 

blindness,  so  Mr.  G  has  learned  the  ways 

and  the  wants  of  the  poor.  And  when  the 
light  shall  cease  to  stream  in  upon  his  mind 
the  gladdened  smile  of  the  widow  and  orphan 


AS   I   SAW  THEM  LAST. 


5S 


will  be  to  his  heart  a  sunshine,  as  pure  and 
lasting  as  love  in  heaven.    Adieu,  Cora. 

November,  1848 


Rochester,  Carrifs  Home. 

My  School  Friend  Laura  : — It  is  pleas- 
ant to  be  even  the  sport  of  a  chance  breeze, 
while  it  continues  to  sit  one  down  by  pleasant 
places.  You  nuist  know  I  have  become  a  per- 
fect wanderer  ;  claiming  no  abiding  place  with 
any  sect,  or  people  ;  passing  the  time,  however, 
ahvays  with  the  good,  as  invitations  favor. 

They  tell  me  gratitude — that  holiest  of 
heavenly  emotions — is  too  much  the  theme  of 
my  letters ;  that  I  give  words  of  thanks  and 
praise  to  every  body  who  is  kind,  all  unmindful 
that  green-eyed  prejudice  is  still  in  the  world. 
Rut,  they  who  say  thus  should  know,  years 
have  gone  by  since  even  a  harsh  word  has 
faLen  on  my  ears — since  I  have  seen  a  frown- 
ing face,  a  look  of  anger  or  revenge.  The 
cold,  the  unfeeling,  whose  souls  are  peopled 
with  selfishness  and  haughty  pride,  never  seek 


\   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMvjRY 


the  friendship  of  ths  bhnd,  but.  hke  Prie&is  and 
Lcvites,  pass  on  the  other  side.  So  you  see  1 
am  necessarily  always  with  the  good  ;  for  they 
alone  find  pleasure  in  contributing  to  the  hap- 
piness of  one,  who  can  make  no  return  for  their 
multiplied  favors.  Miss  Ferrier  says  beauti- 
fully in  her  "  Marriage,"  "  As  the  ancients  held 
sacred  the  oak  riven  by  the  lightning,  so  a 
delicate  mind  always  regards  one  who  has 
been  afflicted,  as  if  touched  by  the  hand  of 
God  himself." 

We  are  creatures  of  habit,  and  form  our  no- 
'l  tions  of  the  world  from  what  we  see  of  it. 
Wonder  not,  then,  if  I  call  it  only  bright  and 
beautiful.  Those  around  may  wear  looks  of 
sadness  ;  may  grow  old  ;  their  teeth  fall ;  their 
eyes  become  dim,  and  their  locks  gray  ;  wrin- 
kles may  be  on  their  brows,  trace-marks  of 
grief  and  care  ;  but  they  look  not  so  to  me. 
The  last  time  I  saw  the  green  earth,  and  its 
inhabitants,  they  wore  yet  the  sunny  hues  of 
innocence  and  gladness,  with  which  unsus- 
pecting youth  covers  all  things.  And  so  they 
seem  to  me  now ;  and  were  I  to  bear  a  report 
to  heaven,  I  should  call  this  a  charming  world- 


61 


a  kind,  a  loving,  and  a  forgiving  world  ;  1 
should  say  men  oftener  love  than  hate,  oftene; 
do  good  than  ill. 

*'  Long,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled. 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distilled. 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase  if  you  will. 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still." 

It  is  Saturday,  Laura,  the  preparation  day 
of  the  Jews.  A  March  morning,  more  lovely 
and  clear,  never  graced  an  Italian  sky.  The 
ice-bands  of  the  Genesee  are  broken,  and  its  v/a- 
ters  roll  on,  tossing  liquid  gems  to  the  sun- 
beams. Robins,  the  first  warblers  among  the 
leatiess  trees,  are  welcoming  the  Spring. 

I  have  been  with  Lizzy  and  Carry  to  the 
place  of  prayer,  and  the  solemnities  of  the 
liouse  of  God  are  still  on  my  thoughts.  White- 
haired  age,  and  the  young,  were  there,  inquir- 
ing "what  shall  we  do  to  be  saved?"  Mr. 
Wisner  opened  the  exercises  with  the  words, 
*'Seek  me  early,  and  ye  shall  suroly  find  me." 
Mr.  Shaw  followed,  addressing  iiimself  most 
affectingly  to  the  youth  of  his  congregation ; 
rhildren  of  the  Covenant,    Miss  Allen  arose. 


62  A    PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

and  in  tears,  meekly  asked  the  people  of  G(>d 
to  pray  for  the  young  ladies  of  her  school, 
many  of  whom  had  accompanied  her,  seeking 
Jesus,  whom  to  know  aright  is  life  eternal. 
"  Blessed  are  the  pure  for  they  shall  see  God." 
This  reminded  me  of  like  scenes  in  the  old 
Seminary  Chapel,  where  we  so  often  assembled 
for  prayers  ;  when  not  one  was  left  in  the 
school  who  had  not  learned  to  pray  and  tasted 
that  the  Lord  is  good.  The  voices  of  those 
pious  teachers,  Professor  Hoyt,  Professor  Whit- 
.lock,  (fcc. ;  their  lessons  of  instruction,  their 
precious  counsels,  clustered  around  my  heart, 
until  it  seemed  "  all  life's  scattered  sweets  were 
gathered  into  that  one  hour."  Laura,  now  the 
sky  is  covered  over  with  clouds,  rain-drops  are 
falling  fast.  Oh  !  that  the  dews  of  heavenly 
love,  and  the  sweets  of  pardon,  would  so  de- 
scend upon  the  earth,  making  it  all  like  a  v/ell- 
watered  garden,  producing  abundantly  the 
fruits  of  righteousness. 

As  in  nature,  the  brightest  sunshine  casts 
the  deepest  shadow,  so  human  life  is  made  up 
of  contrasts  of  lights  and  shades,  calms  and 
storms,  smiles  and  tears.    Laura,  we  met  amid 


BE   BIBLE   STUDENTS.  G3 

scenes  of  mirth,  we  were  happy,  we  were  gay. 
We  often  met,  and  at  every  meeting  gained 
something  for  our  friendship's  storage.  You 
are  still  in  the  temple  where  we  worshipped  at 
the  shrine  of  knowledge.  The  future  is  bright 
before  you,  and  its  symbols  are  big  with  joyous 
meaning.  But,  Laura,  were  I  to  ask  a  boon 
for  thee,  it  would  not  be  a  life  free  from  ad- 
verse winds  and  storms.  Joy  hath  her  minis- 
ters, but  grief  alone  subdues  and  restrains  ^he 
spirit.  As  the  rod  of  the  sainted  Hebrew 
brought  gushing  waters  from  the  rock,  so 
sorrow  moves  the  feeling  fountains  of  the 
heart.  While  refreshing  your  mind  at  the 
springs  of  Castalia,  forget  not  the  once  fare- 
well words  of  our  good  Professor  Seager, 
"  First  of  all  be  Bible  students."  Ignorance 
of  any  thing  else  may  be  palliated,  bat  if  we 
lack  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures,  we  have 
no  excuse,  no  pardon.  Read  often,  then, 
the  Word  of  God.  It  will  add  wisdom  to 
your  thoughts,  peace  to  your  xife,  and  thereby 
good  will  come  unto  thee,  and  thy  days  shall 
be  long  upon  the  earth. 


I        64  A   PLACE     N   THY  MEMORY. 

I 
I 

Friend  Raymond  : — I  am  again  in  New 
I  , 

York,  the  city  of  lights  and  fountains.  Again 

in  the  Institution,  that  is  real,  that  is  true,  but 
not  sad. — Happiness  does  not  so  much  depend 
upon  circumstances  as  we  think.  Within  our 
own  hearts  the  fountain  must  well,  else  no 
number  of  tributaries  can  long  keep  alive  its 
joyous  gushings  and  laughing  streams. 

Our  promenade  grounds,  in  the  rear  of  the 
[nstitution,  covering  several  acres,  are  planted 
with  trees  from  all  quarters  of  the  world,  as  are 
those  who  wander  in  their  shade.  The  Ailan- 
thus  from  China,  the  Catalpa  from  Japan,  the 
silver-leaved  Poplar  and  Abele  from  the  South, 
the  European  Linden  and  Norway  Fir,  and 
the  Maple  and  Elm  from  our  own  forests. 
The  front  yard  is  laid  out  with  beautifully 
gravelled  walks,  and  circles  set  round  with 
shrubs  and  flowers.  Our  best  of  friends,  Mr. 
Dean,  who  planted  them,  comes  often  to  tell 
us  of  their  beauties,  their  virtues  and  their  na- 
tive homes.  But  the  old  gardener,  who  has 
been  servant  in  the  Institution  from  first  to 


THE   OLD   GARDENER.  Gk 

last,  when  the  flowers  faded  and  the  Autumn 
wmds  had  strewed  the  ground  with  leaves, 
dead  honors  of  the  trees,  the  old  man  laid  him 
down  to  die.  No  more  he  comes  to  teach  our 
trnaiit  feet  where  not  to  tread,  and  our  hands 
to  fmd  the  fairest  blossoms.  He  was  a  son  of 
Erin,  green  islo  of  the  sea  !  and  next  his  God, 
he  loved  his  country.  His  history  is  to  us  all 
a  mystery ;  but  this  we  know,  he  had  seen 
much  of  the  world,  knew  much  of  men  and 
manners.  In  his  exile,  books  were  his  com- 
panions, and  his  well  worn  Bible  still  lies  in 
the  kitchen  window,  all  unread  and  uncared 
for  now. 

Tlie  Croton  is  here,  too,  jetting  its  limeless 
waters  in  every  part  of  the  building  ;  and  iho 
little  boys  say  more  birds  come  here  to  sing 
this  summer  than  ever  before ;  perhaps  be- 
cause the  trees  have  grown  thicker  and  higher. 
Prof  Root,  the  vocalist,  sings  with  us  two 
nours  every  morning. — Prof  Reiff,  a  German, 
who  has  for  many  years  had  entire  control  of 
the  musical  department,  is  with  us  still.  If 
ihe  consciousness  of  making  others  happy  is 
cardrs  piu-est  happiness.  Professor  Reiif  must 


26  A   PLACE  JN    THY  5IEM0RY. 

be  blessed  indeed.  To  how  many  of  the  J^Uiid 
has  he  given  employment,  and  made  thcii 
hearts  vibrate  for  ever  with  the  melodies  of 
song  ?  Ohj  could  you  hear  him  play  once,  you 
would  think  as  1  often  do :  he  will  have  little 
cause  for  complaint  if,  up  in  heaven,  the  an- 
gels do  not  present  him  with  a  new  harp,  but 
let  him  keep  his  old  one. 

Miss  Swetland,  our  preceptress,  has  returned 
from  her  tour  South.  Esc;iping  the  rigors  of 
a  northern  winter  has  somewhat  improved  her 
health.  Our  leisure  hours  she  beguiles  with 
amusing  incidents  of  her  travels,  visits  to  the 
Capitol,  Mrs.  Polk's  levees,  etc.  Miss  S.  di- 
vided the  winter  months  between  Charleston 
and  Washington,  and  as  you  may  easily  im- 
agine, gathered  much  to  interest  those  whose 
little  world  lies  almost  w  ithin  these  walls. 

Last  week,  Gen.  Scott  and  his  Aids  paid  us 
a  visit.  The  Band  received  him  with  "  Hail 
to  the  Chief !"  When  passing  them,  the  Gen- 
eral took  off  his  hat  and  bowed,  which  they 
unanimously  returned.  The  members  of  the 
Band  are  all  blind,  and  how  knew  they  when 
to  return  his  bow  ?   Were  not  their  spirits  con- 


THE   HERO   OF   LUNDY's   LANE.  61 

scioliS  of  the  deference  a  greater  spirit  was 
paying  tliem?  The  soul  immortal  has  eye? 
mdependent  of  the  body,  which  like  the  quick 
epiiits  of  the  Universe,  do  neither  sleep  nor 
slumber,  and  no  blindness  can  darken  them 
Tho  particulars  of  the  General's  visit  the  pub- 
lic prints  have  already  g^ir^en  you.  Mr.  Cham- 
berlain, after  introducing  the  great  Hero,  ad- 
dressed him  so  beautifully  in  our  behalf,  that 
I  must  give  you  a  copy  of  his  words  as  nearly 
as  1  can  recall  them. 

Allow  me,  sir,  on  behalf  of  the  managers, 
the  officers  and  the  pupils  of  this  Institution, 
to  bid  you  a  cordial  welcome.  Although  cut 
off  from  many  sources  of  information  enjoyed 
by  our  fellow-countrymen,  with  the  history  of 
your  life,  identified  as  it  is  with  some  of  the 
brightest  pages  of  our  country's  history,  we  are 
not  unacquainted.  All  have  heard  of  Fort 
Erie  and  of  the  Heights  of  dueenston  ;  of  the 
plains  of  Chippewa  and  of  the  sanguinary  con- 
test of  Lundy's  Lane.  With  our  fingers  we 
have  traced  the  progress  of  that  brave  army, 
which  from  the  storming  of  Vera  Cruz  to  the 
capture  of  Mexico,  you  have  led  to  triumph 


68 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


and  to  ^lory;  and  we  have  heard,  too,  that 
when  "  red  field  was  won,"  and  patriotism  had 
sheathed  her  victorious  sword,  the  claims  oi 
humanity  were  not  forgotten.  We  have  heard 
that  the  same  heart  which  in  the  iron  tempesi 
of  battle  was  firm  as  adamant,  could  dissolve 
in  teiiderest  sympathy  by  the  couch  of  the 
wounded  and  dying.  All  this,  sir.  we  have 
heard,  and  while  we  have  not  admirea  the 
Hero  less,  we  have  loved  the  man  more.  It  is 
for  this,  sir,  that  we  cherish  the  name  of  Win- 
field  Scott ;  one  of  the  noblest  names  that 
fame  has  ever  inscribed  upon  our  national 
escutcheon  ; 

•  One  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names. 
That  were  not  born  to  die.' 

"  But  I  am  reminded  that  of  these  precious 
moments  very  few  can  be  accorded  to  us,  and 
before  we  bid  you  adieu,  I  would  crave  one 
boon  in  behalf  of  my  sightless  charge.  Some 
of  these,  when  you  shall  have  filled  up  the 
measure  of  your  fame,  and  to  you  the  praise 
and  censure  of  man  will  be  alike  indifferent, 
will  survive ;   and  when  they  shall  recount 


CHIPPEWA   AND   CERRO  GORDO. 


69 


your  acliievements.  and  tell  to  coming  genera- 
tions, of  Cliii)pewa  and  of  Cerro  Gordo,  and  of 
Oonircras,  and  the  many  other  fields  where 
yon  have  covered  the  proud  flag  of  our  coun- 
tiy  with  imperishable  glory,  I  would  have 
them  say,  too,  that  once,  at  least,  it  was  their 
fortune  to  listen  to  the  tones  of  that  voice  whose 
word  of  command  was  ever  to  the  brave  the 
talisman  of  assured  victory." 

Gen.  Scott's  reply  was  very  concise  and 
affecting.  All  his  remarks  I  do  not  remember, 
Dut  he  said  he  knew  by  the  light  of  our  faces 
that  our  enjoyments,  though  perhaps  more  pen- 
sive than  those  of  persons  who  see,  are  not 
less  elevated  and  refined.  Religion,  God  and 
the  Bible  were  so  much  the  themes  of  his  re- 
marks, one  would  sooner  have  thought  him  a 
priest,  than  a  General  from  the  field  of  battle. 
When  he  resumed  his  seat  Fanny  was  intro- 
duced to  him,  and  recited  a  poem  which  she 
had  prepared  for  his  reception.  She  alluded 
to  the  soldiers  revelling  in  the  halls  of  Monte- 
zuma- The  General  afterwards  remarked : 
"  we  did  not  revel  in  the  Halls  of  Montezuma, 
but  subsisted  on  one  meal  a  day ;  and  when 


70  A   PLACE    IN   THY  MEMCRY. 

the  b/iltle  ended  went  down  on  our  Knees,  as 
all  good  Christians  and  soldiers  shou  d  do,  and 
returned  thanks,  and  sought  the  blessing  cl 
God."  If  analyzed,  were  their  thanks  for  their 
own  escape,  or  for  their  success  in  disposing  of 
their  enemies  ?  Even  soldiers  should  lemem- 
ber,  "  God  takes  no  thanks  for  murder."  The 
General  let  Fanny  take  his  sword ;  she  un- 
sheathed it,  and  raising  it  high,  exclaimed, 
"  You  are  my  prisoner."  The  great  man  re- 
plied, "  I  always  surrender  to  the  ladies  at  dis- 
cretion." He  then  joked  her  something  about 
the  beaux.  Fanny  said  to  him,  I  have  never 
yet  see?i  a  gentleman  who  quite  suited  my 
fancy.  This  put  the  house  in  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter, and  such  a  volley  of  cheers  you  never 
heard.  I  could  not  see  tho  General  to  judge  ol 
his  height,  but  I  fancy  he  must  be  to  the  new 
v/oild  what  Saul  was  to  the  old,  "  head  and 
Bhouldors  abova  all  o'her  men." 


OUR   NIGHT   IS  UNENDING. 


71 


Rochester  Willow  Bank,  March,  1848. 
My  dkar,  very  dear  Mary: — We,  whoso 
eyes  are  closed,  have  but  two  divisions  of  time 
— a  noisy  night  and  a  quiei  one.  Morning 
comes,  and  the  hght  streams  in  sunny  rills 
over  all  the  gladsome  earth.  Long  ago,  Mary, 
we  two  awoke,  ere  the  sun  had  kissed  the 
dews  into  vapor,  and  ran  joyous  to  greet  the 
faces  of  those  we  loved,  refreshed  and  beauti- 
fied by  a  night  of  slumbers.  And  oh,  do  you 
remember,  Mary,  how  from  the  opened  doors, 
in  rushed,  like  resisted  waters,  a  flood  of  golden 
light?  When  far  o'er  the  green  hills,  the  full 
orbed  sun  showered  his  splendors;  and  high 
up  the  blue  sky,  fleecy  clouds  were  flying;  and 
among  the  trees  merry  birds  were  singing — ■ 
and  on  the  flowers,  busy  bees  their  nectar 
draughts  were  sipping,  and  all  the  insect  tribes 
were  humming,  and  we,  too,  in  girlhood  glee, 
went  singing.  How  joyful,  oh,  how  joyful,  is 
the  morning!  But  now  it  is  not  so;  our  night 
is  unending.  Days  steal  on  us — and  steal  from 
us.    We  sleep  and  awaken;  but  no  change 


j"  A   PLACE   IN   Thy  Ml.MORY. 

comes.  No  flowers  spring  up  in  our  path;  no 
garden  walks  or  fields  unfold  their  colors;  no 
mountains  rise — no  rivers  roll  nor  oceans  swell. 
To  ns,  beauty  hath  veiled  her  face,  and  grana- 
eur  and  sublimity,  have  passed  away.  Yes, 
Mary,  all  things  have  passed  away.  The 
moon  has  left  the  sky,  and  all  the  constellated 
stars  have  gone  down  for  ever;  so  the  bright 
dieanis  of  our  youth  have  fled;  and  j/romised 
oys  come  not.  All  around  are  blithe  and  gay, 
but  from  morn  till  eve,  Mary,  we  move  cau- 
tiously and  pensively.  Our  truant  feet  often 
go  astray,  and  we  know  not  when  danger  is 
nigh.  As  the  chained  eaglet  looks  heaven- 
ward, and  stretches  out  its  wing  in  fancied 
freedom,  so  we  sometimes  intercept  the  flight 
of  time — and  live  forgetful  in  light,  and  joy, 
and  hope,  only  to  return  and  weep  in  darkness 
more  dark,  and  loneliness  moj^e  lonely.  But 
Mary,  our  darkness,  like  the  clouds,  must  have 
its  sunny  side,  for  God  takes  blessings  from  us 
only  when  their  absence  is  the  greater  blessing; 
sorrow  sanctified,  quickens  into  newness  ol 
life,  the  better  feelings  of  our  nature, —  and 
Mary,  does  it  not  make  us  love  our  friends  and 


ONE   MOMENT   OF  SIGHT. 


73 


all  the  world  more;  and  go  not  our  thoughts 
oftenoi  up  to  God  and  heaven?  Imagination, 
*h?i  sublime  radius  of  the  soul,  is  every  day- 
taking  to  herself  a  broader  sweep;  piercing 
even  the  sepulchre  of  the  buried  past — and 
trending  fearless,  within  the  boundary  of  the 
unocen.  Science  or  art,  or  earth  or  sky,  have 
no  treasured  worth,  nor  hidden  beauty,  that 
fancy,  ni  her  fieetness,  does  not  picture  in 
colors  brighter  far,  than  open  eyes  can  see; 
and  as  flowers  from  the  deptlis  of  the  ocean, 
come  floating  o'er  the  swelling  tidc^  so  beauti- 
ful images  from  the  long-forgotten  past,  glad- 
den now  our  searching  memories.  Galileo, 
who  saw  more  than  all  the  world  before  him, 
and  opened  the  eyes  of  all  after  him,  from  the 
top  of  his  prison,  with  the  instrument  his  own 
hands  had  made,  watched  the  wheeling  orbs 
above,  until  his  eyes  became  opaque  as  the 
satellites  he  discovered;  in  his  woes  he  cried. 
Oh,  ye  Gods,  for  power  to  look  once  more  into 
iho  serene  depths  of  the  clear  night  heaven! 
If  we  may  judge  from  his  frequent  and  happy 
descriptions  of  its  beauties,  Milton  would  have 

given  all  other  sights  for  the  glorious  morning. 
4 


74  A   PLACE   IN   TIIV  MiiMORY. 

Saiideisoii  desired  only  once  to  look  along  tht  ! 
pages  of  a  book,  and  I  have  heard  you  say 
Mary,  you  would  rather  see  the  flowers,  than 
all  the  world  beside !    But  oh  '  if  I  were  to  be 
blessed  with  one  moment  of  sight,  I  would 
pray,  let  me  look  again  into  the  face  of  a  che- 
rished friend — a  pair  of  soul-lit  eyes,  beamirg 
with  intelligence  and  love ;  Vvdiose  spirit-glances 
imagination  cannot  picture,  and  things  so  holy,  | 
uiisanctified  memory  may  not  treasure.    Oh,  | 
what  saddened  feelings  steal  upon  us,  when,  j 
with  ravished  ears,  we  listen  to  descriptions  of 
paintings  on  the  walls,  and  rainbows  on  the 
clouds.    But,  Mary,  have  you  never  thought 
the  angels  are  always  nearer  then,  to  bear  our 
thoughts  away,  where  light  is,  that  fades  not? 
Where  the  painter,  with  his  brush  of  divine 
art,  dipped  in  color's  native  well,  sketches  holy 
imagery;  scenery  of  heaven,  where  deathless 
flowers  bloom  by  living  fountains,  and  the  fair 
forms  of  the  blest,  when  dayspring's  fragrant 
dews  hang  impearled  upon  their  seraph  locks ! 
Where  the  poet,  seated  upon  some  blissfu 
mound,  writes  whiJe  the  inspirations  of  holy 
genius  burn  along  his  lines,  where  Truths, 


THE   WELCOME  VISITOR. 


75 


into  winch  philosophers  here  look  and  grow 
bewildered  with  their  depth,  we  shall  there  ex 
plore,  invited  by  the  voice  of  Him  who  sits  in 
majesty  enthroned,  and  sways  over  earth  and 
heaven  his  potent  rule ;  whose  creating  hand 
moulds  worlds,  and  tosses  them  into  the  fields 
of  ether  pensile  hung;  "clothes  the  lilies  of 
the  field,  and  tempers  the  winds  to  the  shorn 
lamb." 

Mary,  life  is  what  we  make  it;  shut  out 
from  all  that  is  external,  we  are  pretty  much 
the  creators  of  the  world  we  live  in.  Let  us 
see  to  it  then,  that  we  be  good  creators.  Since 
day  and  night  are  the  same,  we  can  as  well 
people  our  minds  with  the  beams  of  the  one, 
as  the  clouds  of  the  other;  as  well  call  back 
images  of  joy  and  gladness,  as  those  of  grief 
and  care.  The  latter,  however,  may  some- 
times be  our  guests  to  sup  and  dine,  but  let 
them  never  be  permitted  to  lodge  with  us. 
We  came  forth  in  childhood's  morn  to  gather 
flowers,  and  because  on  our  way  we  have 
dropped  a  few,  we  will  not  sit  down  and  weep 
over  the  lost,  but  rather  amuse  ourselves  by 
counting  and  admiring  these  we  have  lefl 


76 


A   PLACC   IN   THY  M3M0RY. 


Hliiidness  makes  us  painfully  deperidcnt;  hu\ 
God  forbid  our  hearts  murmur,  or  our  lips 
complain.  "  The  earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the 
fulness  thereof."  The  cattle  upon  a  thousand 
hills  are  his ;  running  waters  and  green  pas- 
tures are  in  his  hands,  and  even  now,  he  may 
be  leading  us  hither,  by  ways  we  have  not 
known !  In  the  love  and  sympathy  of  friends, 
who  every  where  hasten  to  do  us  kindness, 
we  have  a  well-spring  of  pleasure,  inexhaust- 
ible as  the  good  feelings  of  the  human  heart. 
Cora  is  an  angel  of  patience,  Mary,  or  I  had 
not  written  you  so  long  a  letter.  Her  little 
hand  must  be  weary,  though  she  says  no,  and 
when  I  complain  of  troubling  her,  she  folds 
her  arms  around  my  neck  and  whisper:;,  af- 
flicted friends  are  our  ministering  spirts — for 
us  they  languish — for  us  they  die. 

Mary,  it  is  four  by  the  clock,  and  I  fancy 
myself  again  in  the  Institution  parlor,  drum- 
ming a  piano  lesson,  as  if  noise  were  its  only 
object.  Now  opens  the  door ;  Kitty,  Libby, 
Josey,  and  Susa,  all  in  the  same  breath  inquire, 
Mr.  Dean?  Mr.  Dean?  No;  he  has  not  come 
yet;  away  they  run  and  presently  return  with 


WHAT   HAS   HE   N3W?  77 

some  dozen  more ;  now  they  are  not  mistaken 
his  well-known  tread  in  the  hall  they  heard, 
and  his  voice  guides  them  to  his  arms;  some 
are  in  his  lap,  others  hang  around  his  chair; 
all  expect  a  kiss,  a  kind  word ;  yes,  and  some- 
thing more. — Look!  what  has  he  now  for 
these,  his  pet  children?  Pine-apples,  banar.as, 
figs,  oranges !  The?e  with  a  father's  fondness 
he  diWdes,  answering  meantime  their  many 
questions  of  the  people  who  grow  and  gather 
such  delicious  fruits;  how  preserved,  where 
procured,  ifec, — But  where  is  Charley,  the  pet 
of  all  the  house?  forgive  the  httle  rogue,  he 
has  gone  trudging  up  the  long  stairs  with  a 
heart  full  of  complaint  to  Miss  Wild,  that  his 
apron-pockets  ain't  "  bigger  enough.''''  Patting 
them  on  the  head  affectionately,  Mr.  Dean 
says,  go  away  now  my  children  to  your  play, 
while  I  read  a  little  to  these  larger  girls ;  bless 
his  heart !  some  choice  book  we  know,  perhaps 
just  from  the  press ;  and  as  we  sit  encircled 
round,  hour  after  hour  goes  unheeded  by,  till 
late  in  the  evening  we  bid  him  good  night  at 
'he  yard  gate.  It  is  a  long  walk  to  Mr.  Dean's 
mansion,  but  happy  thoughts,  like  gocd  society 


78  A   PLACE   IN   TJIY  MEMORY 

always  annihilate  time  and  distance.  Ohl 
Mary,  is  it  not  heart-monding  to  live  over  in 
after  time,  seasons  of  such  rich  enjoyment.  I 
often  wonder  who  comes  to  read  for  you  on 
Sabbath  evenings,  now  our  friend  Mr,  ^*Iuriay 
has  made  his  home  in  Oswegc.  We  nevei 
forget  those  to  whom  we  have  been  truly  kind  ; 
so  we  will  hope  thoughts  of  those  whom  his 
frequent  visits  made  so  happy,  will  come  to 
him  sometimes  even  there.  Yesterday,  two 
Canaries  were  presented  me ;  one  I  shall  bring 
to  you,  and  the  other  to  Ann.  Their  voices 
are  equalled  in  sweetness  by  none  but  your 
own.  Pardon  me,  if  I  flatter,  but  1  could  not 
compliment  their  musical  powers  more,  or  des- 
cribe them  to  you  better. — Remember  me  kind- 
ly to  all  in  the  Institution,  and  say,  in  the 
month  of  roses  I  shall  again  be  with  them. 
Good-by,  Mary. 


New-  York  Institut  ion  for  the  Blind. 

Friend  (yARRiE, — In  the  light  of  many 
memories  I  sit  me  down  to  write  you.  The 
holidays  came,  and  all  were  again  abroad  foj 


THE   OLD   DUTCH   CUSTOlVf.  79 

a  little  season  of  pleasure,  and  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  the  Institution  began  to  seem  lonely 
enough,  to  those  too  far  from  home  and  friends 
to  share  with  them  the  recreations  of  the  sea 
son ;  when  to  my  delight  Mr.  H.  M.  Whitney, 
of  Rochester,  came  and  escorted  me  over  to 
Brooklyn.  The  old  Dutch  custom  of  devoting 
the  first  day  of  the  New  Year  exclusively  to 
calling,  for  the  gentlemen,  is  still  kept  up  with 
much  enthusiasm  in  New- York  and  Brooklyn. 
For  this  one  day  in  the  year  at  least,  the  ladies 
do  turn  democrats,  and  with  open  doors  and 
hearts  receive  with  free  toleration,  all  those 
who  choose  to  look  in  upon  them.  It  is  a  nice 
way  too  of  adding  new  acquaintances  to  one's 
list ;  for  instance,  if  there  chance  to  be  a  strange 
famil}  in  the  neighborhood,  or  church,  and  a 
gentleman,  by  introduction  or  otherwise,  pays 
the  lady  a  New  Year's  call,  she  soon  after,  if 
the  acquaintance  be  a  desirable  one,  returns 
the  obligation  by  calling  at  his  house. 

There  was  never  a  brighter  winter  morning 
than  dawned  with  the  new  year.  Broadway 
was  one  grand  masquerade.  Proteus  had  less 
shapes  than  the  fashions  of  its  equipage. 


so 


A  PLACE   IN    _HY  \1EM.)RY. 


Heads  of  biiflalocs,  b(;ars,  lions,  and  tigers, 
were  mounted  on  every  stage-coach,  omiiibus, 
and  all  sorts  of  vehicles  that  go  on  wheels  oi 
lunners.  I  do  not  mean  that  these  ciieatuies 
were  really  abroad  so  uncaged,  but  lesser  ani- 
mals, you  know,  sometimes  wrap  tnemselves 
in  the  skin  of  the  stronger,  and  go  about  like 
the  sheep  in  wolf's  clothing. 

4mong  the  many  who  called  on  my  fnends 
Mrs.  Barnes  and  her  sister,  was  the  learned 
Professor  Davies.  Mathematicians  are  not  al- 
ways social  in  their  feelings,  fertile  m  imagi- 
nation, or  fluent  in  speech  ;  but  I  have  seldom 
met  so  cordial,  warm-hearted,  and  happy  man 
in  conversation,  as  Professor  Davies.  Listen- 
ing to  him,  you  would  think  he  numbers  all 
the  fine  arts  in  his  string,  and  his  formulas 
and  infinite  series  besides.  By  some  associa- 
tion, the  cause  of  my  blindness  was  asked  ; 
whereupon  I  told  the  good  Professor  plainly, 
that  I  believed  he  had  something  to  do  with  it ; 
that  I  strove  too  hard  to  see  the  end  of  his 
mathematical  course,  and  after  passing  many 
weaiisome  days  and  nights  with  his  too  fasci- 
nating Legendre,  Bourdon,  surveying,  and  cal- 


THE    VEGETARIAN.  81 

cuius  of  radicals,  an  irritation  by  weeping  and 
a  slight  cold  darkened  my  eyes  for  ever.  Now, 
Carrie,  if  I  could  only  manage  to  demonstrate 
to  the  Professor,  by  one  of  his  own  formulas, 
that  he  was,  in  point  of  fact,  the  original  cause 
of  my  blindness,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  send  in  my  bill  to  him ;  and  how  much 
should  it  be  ?  Really,  one  could  not  think  of 
acking  less  than  a  thousand  dollars  for  a  pair 
of  hazel  orbs,  such  as  mine  were,  alwa^ys  bright 
with  looks  of  glaglness.  to  say  nothing  of  their 
usefulness  ;  and  that  sum,  Carrie,  would  make 
me  independently  rich, — for  you  must  know, 
since  Mr.  Dean  sent  me  to  the  water-cure 
establishment,  I  have  learned  to  live  without 
meat,  butter,  salt,  tea  or  coffee ;  quenching 
my  thirst  always,  as  Kirke  White  says,  "  luxu- 
rious from  the  limpid  wave."  And  according 
to  Graham's  computation,  a  true  vegetarian 
can  fare  sumptuously  as  need  be  upon  fifteen 
dollars  per  year ;  and,  certainly,  the  difference 
between  that  and  seventy  would  clothe  one, 
and  pocket  money  beside.  God  grant  that  little 
fortune  may  yet  be  mine  =  then  I  shall  be  the 
happiest  creature  alive. 

4* 


fi2  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MCMORY. 

Well,  we  had  other  calls,  too  ;  the  gahant 
the  brave,  the  young,  the  gifted,  and  fascinat- 
Viig,  all  pouring  in  pell-mell,  by  the  score  and 
dozens,  with  a  "happy  New  Year"  on  theii 
lips,  music  in  their  voices,  and  their  brows 
clothed  with  smiles,  new  from  the  fair  faces 
they  had  just  left. 

It  is  astonishing  how  many  words  and  ideas 
can  be  exchanged  in  a  little  time  when  both 
parties  are  agreeably  excited.  Seemingly,  in 
five  minutes,  Dr.  Powers  gave  us  a  synopsis 
of  the  different  modes  of  observing  the  day  in 
all  the  countries  of  Europe.  The  polished 
Marquand  introduced  us  to  Paris  scenes  so 
familiarly,  that  we  seemed  almost  enjoying  her 
dazzling  fetes.  Mr.  Humphrey,  of  Amherst, 
talked  of  paintings,  then  the  classics,  the  land 
of  marvels,  and  our  genius,  Powers,  in  Flor- 
ence ;  and  lastly,  reference  was  made  to  the 
New  England  festival,  where  I  believe  he  was 
toasted  "  orator  of  the  day."  Lawyer  Burr 
had  on  his  sunniest  face  ;  though  emphatically 
a  man  of  the  world,  a  calculating  and  specu- 
lative disciple  of  Blackstone,  yet  no  laugh  was 
bo  merry  as  his,  and  no  efforts  to  please  more 


THE   SUNDAY  SCHOOL. 


83 


Qeartfelt.  I.  envy  you  such  an  uncle;  and 
why  she  aid  I  not?    Just  think  of  his  holiday 

gifts ;  Mrs.  B  's  hundred  dollar  ring,  and 

Emma's  pearl  and  feather  fan,  and  splendid 
books  beside. 

Sunday  morning  we  went  to  the  Mission 
Sunday  School,  the  children  of  which  are  ga- 
thered from  the  highways  and  hedges.  Could 
you  see  these  little  ones  in  their  cellar  homes, 
and  contrast  them  now  in  the  cheerful  Sunday 
School.  The  hand  of  benevolence  has  washed 
them  from  their  filth,  put  on  them  comely  gar- 
ments, and  set  their  feet  in  new  shoes,  and 
while  I  listened  to  them  repeating  the  A,  B,  C, 
and  reading  stammeringly,  verses  of  Scripture, 
tlicy  seemed  a  cabinet  of  unwrought  jewels, 
and  every  lesson  a  touch  from  the  hand  of  the 
polisher,  revealing  some  new  and  heavenly 
oeauty.  The  school  at  present  numbers  one 
hundred  and  fifty-seven,  taught  and  sustained 
by  those  of  all  denominations,  who,  like  the 
great  Teacher  of  mankind,  love  to  do  good. 
Mr.  Barnes,  for  a  New  Year's  gift,  presented 
each  of  them,  one  of  Mrs.  Sherwood's  stories 
for  cliildren.    Poverty  is  a  ochool,  but  her  dis- 


R4  A    PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORlf. 

cipline  is  not  always  healthfui  to  the  mind  ami 
heart ;  too  often  her  children  become  proficients 
in  art  and  deceit,  which  they  through  life  prac- 
tise upon  an  unsuspecting  world.  Even  there 
a  child,  too  provident,  was  found  smuggling  a 
second  book  to  sell  on  the  morrow,  as  she  said, 
for  a  penny  to  buy  bread.  Children  can  be 
drawn  and  kept  in  the  right  way  only  by  the 
cord  of  love,  and  their  waywardness  shonld 
be  checked  by  the  same.  My  lips  will  never 
cease  to  whisper  blessings  on  the  members  of 
the  Mission  Sunday  School ;  and  may  God 
love  and  bless  them  too. 

Friend  Carrie,  believe  always,  that  I  love 
you.  With  the  compliments  and  good  wishes 
of  the  season, 

I  am  affectionately  yours. 


Institution  for  (lie  Blijid. 
Many  things  are  dark  to  sorrow,  but  not 
all ;  even  blindness  has  its  morning  and  its 
evening. — True,  at  ::ight  we  cannot  see  the 
stars  in  their  blue  homes,  nor  the  sim  at  morn 


CLOSE   OF   THE  EAY. 


65 


yet  they  both  have  many  voices,  and  \vhen 
the  eye  is  turned  away,  the  ear  affords  new 
avenues  to  the  heart,  through  which  the  spirit, 
though  a  prisoner,  may  become  elevated  and 
happy. 

New- York  Institution  for  the  BUnd  seems  a 
paradise,  where  purity  dwells,  peace  and  con- 
tent rule  all  hearts,  and  love  is  our  guardian 
angel. — The  murmur  of  the  Hudson  blends 
with  tlie  breeze,  and  high  in  the  new-leafed 
trees  birds  sing  the  liours  away.  It  is  a  home 
of  flowers,  where  blind  girls  wander  in  angel 
innocence,  now  twining  garlands  in  their  hair, 
now  bowing  their  heads  to  smell  and  kiss  the 
blossoms,  they  may  not  pluck ;  and  with 
thankful  lips  they  speak  of  him  who  placed 
them  there. 

The  sun  has  veiled  his  splendors  behind  the 
hills,  save  here  and  there  a  truant  beam  lin- 
gering, as  if  reluctant  to  quit  the  world,  till 
my  poor  eyes  have  seen  their  light.  School 
duties  are  over,  all  are  abroad,  each  to  his  fa- 
vorite diversion.  Eddy,  the  blind  Pole,  (bettei 
known  as  the  blir.d  prodigy,)  is  at  the  organ. 
Haydn's  Creation  is  now  a  creation  of  his  owti. 


8G  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

The  spirit  of  its  author  is  on  him ;  he  is  the 
personation  of  genius ;  the  sightless  spirit  of 
lovely  sounds.  Here  comes  my  little  friend 
Cynthia,  the  blind  poetess,  to  tend  her  plants. 
Whispers  are  on  her  lips  low  and  sweet  as  an- 
gel lutes  ;  her  thoughts  go  in  rhymes.  A  copy 
of  her  Poems  has  lately  been  published,  a 
thank-offering  to  her  friends,  which  like  her 
self,  every  where  meets  a  warm  reception. 

Now  the  air  all  around  rings  with  the 
school-girl's  merry  laugh — the  old  servant  who 
has  been  in  the  Institution  since  it  was  found- 
ed, from  years  and  respect  has  long  had  the 

title  of  Mr.  ,  is  with  them  at  tlie  swing. 

"Ride  fareless,  my  pretty  craturs,"  says  he, 
"  and  if  the  swang  comes  down,  I'll  be  aftei 
catchmg  your  swate  souls,  all  in  my  arms,  to 
be  sure." 

A  school  like  this  is  a  world  by  itself,  the 
manners  and  customs  of  which  are  as  unlike 
the  real  world  as  possible.  A  few  evenings 
since,  I  chanced  to  be  in  the  little  girls'  sitting- 
room  ;  the  subject  of  theiv  innocent  conversa- 
tion, then  happened  to  be,  the  birds.  "  The 
Canary  is  the  sweetest  singer  in  the  world," 


LIZZY  S   FAVORITE  BIRD.  87 

says  Cassy.  "  That  may  be/"'  says  Lizzy,  "  but 
Its  feathers  are  not  half  so  soft  and  pretty  as 
the  grasshopper's."  "  Psha/'  says  one  more 
experienced,  "  the  grasshopper  is  not  a  bird.-' 
"  It  is,''  says  Lizzy ;  "  I  have  felt  them  fly 
against  my  head,  many  a  time,  though  my 
little  hands  could  never  catch  one  ;  and  sister 
Mary  used  .to  say  they  were  a  beautiful  green, 
and  she  wished  I  could  see  them." 

Another  time  little  Matta  says  to  Angy,  "  Do 
you  know  that,  when  you  speak  a  lie,  the 
guilty  feeling  comes  out  all  over  your  face,  so 
that  those  who  see  you  know  that  you  are 
telling  a  story  ?"  "  No,"  says  Angy,  I  do  not 
think  it,  though  I  have  heard  mamma  say 
to  little  brother.  You  are  guilty,  I  can  see 
it  in  your  eyes  ;  and  you  know  my  eyes  are 
closed,  and  she  never  said  so  to  me."  "  Well, 
it  is  so,"  says  Matta,  "  and  that  is  the  way 
God  sees  our  hearts,  and  knows  all  we  are 
thinking." 

The  past  and  the  present  are  as  the  two 
sides  to  a  pane  of  glass — we  cannot  see  the  one, 
without  seeing  the  other ;  now,  I  remember 
the  morning  when  Mr.  Loder  left  me  here. 


88 


A   PLACE  iN   THY  MEMORY. 


I  In  Rochester  I  was  always  snrroimded  by  the 
best  of  friends,  by  whom  m}-  every  wish  was 
anticipated ;  but  here  it  was  not  so.  and  more 
han  ever  I  felt  that  1  was  bUnd  and  in  the 
world  alone.  Two  long  days  wore  away — 
then  came  the  Sabbath — and  a  Sabbath  in  a 
strange  land  is  a  lonely  day  indeed ;  during 
the  morning  service,  I  heard  nothing.  My 
thoughts  were  far  away  over  the  current  of 
years — my  soul  turned  ba<'k  upon  itself,  and 
m  my  heart  I  said  ;  "  to  die  is  nothmg,  but  to 
live  and  not  see,  is  misfortune."  When  all 
had  left  the  Chapel  but  myself,  I  began  grop- 
ing my  way  back  to  the  parlor.  There  all 
were  social  and  happy,  as  mortals  may  be, 
but  my  heart  was  too  full  for  wcids  or  tears. 

Presently  a  tread  was  heard  incide  the  door ; 
"  Oh  !  Ml.  Dean,  Mr.  Dean,"  exclaimed  every 
voice,  "  have  you  come  ?  we  are  glad  to  see 
you.  Have  you  brought  a  book  ?  what  is  it  7 
and  how  long  will  you  read  to  us  ?"  Mr. 
Dean  is  one  of  the  Managers,  and  a  kind 
father  to  us  all ;  and  though  a  man  of  busi- 
ness and  his  residence  in  town,  yet  he  finds 
time  to  visit  us  every  day.  and  the  intei  views 


THE   DESERT   A  'D    THE    FLOWER.  89 

are  to  us  all  lights  in  a  dark  place.  In  a  fevxr 
days  he  bronght  his  daughter  to  see  me,  to 
whose  kindness  I  owe  much  happiness.  Her 
friendship  has  been  to  me  what  Mungo  Park's 
flower  was  to  him  in  the  Desert. 

After  seven  months'  confinement  to  the  wa  Js 
of  an  Institution,  can  you  imagine  with  what 
transport  I  received  through  her  an  invitation 
to  pass  a  little  time  in  the  fam'ly  of  Mrs. 
Allen,  of  Newark,  New  Jersev  the  city  of 
Elms.  Her  home  is  "  £?eatp^'  soft  among  the 
trees."  Mrs.  A.  has  seen  many  years;  her 
heart  is  the  home  of  pious  emotions,  and  to 
know  her  is  to  love  her. 

Not  long  since,  through  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Townsend,  of  this  city,  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  Dr.  Dewey,  who  has  lately  returned 
from  Washington.  I  had  heard  the  remarK 
that  lie  was  not  so  eloquent  in  the  pulpit  as 
with  his  pen ;  that,  like  Goldsmith,  he  could 
reason  best  when  alone ;  but  a  more  eloquent 
and  heart-healing  discourse  I  have  seldom 
Keara.  In  consequence  of  declinhig  health, 
he  is  about  closing  his  ministerial  labors  and 
wc.ks  of  love ;  but  he  will  leave  with  his  peo- 


90  A    PLACE     N   Tin  MEMORY. 

pie  a  name  set  round  with  good  deeds,  like  a 
diadem  of  honor.       #       «       »       ♦  • 


Institution  fot  ilie  Blind. 

My  ever  dear  Eliza: — I  planted  you  in 
my  heart  long  ago ;  it  was  then  a  garden  plot, 
fresh  and  green,  and  full  of  blossoms.  But 
now,  how  changed !  Mildew  and  death  are 
there,  and  frosts  cold  and  frigid  have  turned 
its  leaves,  and  sleety  winds  have  shaken  them 
to  the  ground.  And  yet,  dearest,  you  stand 
now  as  then,  firm  and  beautiful.  Like  the 
oak,  you  have  spread  your  branches,  and  I 
in  my  weariness  come  to  repose  in  their  shade. 

Eliza,  many  times  the  moon  has  waned 
since  I  wrote  to  you  ;  but  loving  as  her  beams 
on  the  hills,  are  my  memories  of  the  Seneca, 
and  those  who  dwell  by  its  shore.  I  have 
been  ill.  Health  is  indeed  a  precious  gift, 
without  it  we  can  hardly  be  happy  within  our- 
selves, or  useful  to  those  around  us.  Suffering 
the  will  of  God,  and  doing  it,  are  very  unlike ; 
but  ni  every  condition  w(^  have  something  to 


WATCHFUL   SPIRITS,  91 

be  grateful  for.  Indeed,  I  doubt,  if  we  are 
e\ei  so  placed  that  we  nave  not  more  smilea 
for  the  day,  than  tears  for  the  night,  and  more 
cause  for  joy  than  mourning.  Watchful  spirits 
are  at  every  post.  Angels  with  folded  pinions 
are  ni  every  path,  indeed  the  world  is  full  of 
them  Our  feet  never  stumble,  want  never 
approaches,  and  ills  of  any  kind  are  seldom 
long  in  the  way,  but  some  Samaritan  hand 
lifts  us  out  of  them.  No  night  is  so  dark  that 
our  Father's  smile  cannot  cheer  it,  and  no 
place  IS  so  barren,  so  far  removed,  that  his 
blessings  and  mercies  cannot  reach  it.  And 
1k)w  lich  and  bountiful  they  come.  New 
every  morning,  fresh  every  evening,  and  re- 
peated every  moment  of  our  lives. 

It  is  November.  The  frost  has  bitten  the 
forest  leaves,  and  the  trees  are  robed  in 
Autumn's  bleeding  hues.  The  day-god  is  in 
the  sky,  gladdening  all  the  world,  but  oh,  he 
slieds  no  light  for  me.  Nothing  strikes  the 
chord  of  responsive  memories  hke  music.  Eliza, 
tlus  morning  the  Band  are  in  the  chapel,  play- 
ing Love  Not,  and  the  variations  ;  and  with- 
out the  winds  are  blowing  a  sort  of  trumpet 


92 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


accompaniment;  now,  the  tide  of  their  iich 
harmony  ebbs  and  flows  along  the  borders  ol 
my  soulj  kindhng  my  thoughts,  and  m:iking 
my  pulses  beat  qnicker.  Now  they  are  scat- 
tering Mozart's  Requiem  on  the  air.  Oh, 
Heaven  be  always  thanked  for  an  atmosphere 
that  may  be  formed  into  sweet  sounds.  Looks, 
of  love  are  bright  things,  but  words  are  far 
more  dear.  The  former  play  upon  tlie  heart 
like  moonbeams  upon  the  waters,  but  tlie  lat- 
ter sink  down  into  it,  thence  coming  forth  in 
blossoms  and  clustering  fruits,  like  seeds  lost 
in  the  earth.  No  wonder  the  deaf  Beethoven 
by  gesturing  words  exclaimed,  "  all  the  plea- 
sures of  sight  and  sense,  all  my  eyes  ever 
saw,  would  I  give  for  one  whisper  to  my 
heart." 


Rochester,  Oct.,  1845. 

Dear  Clara: — 'Tis  Autumn,  and  to-day 
the  winde  howl  mournfully  among  the  tiecs. 
Four  long  weeks  I  have  been  pillowed  a 
sick  couch,  and  though  with  much  of  its  dra- 


A  DREAM. 


93 


pery  around  me,  I  can  to-day  sit  in  an  easy 
chair.  Fever  still  burns  on  my  cheeks,  and 
my  brow  is  pressed  with  throbbing  pain.  Last 
night  they  fed  me  opium,  and  I  slept  a  plea- 
sant sleep.  I  dreamed  of  other  days.  1 
thought  that  we  again,  arm  in  arm,  paced  the 
halls  of  the  old  seminary,  and  talked  confid- 
ingly of  bright  realities  in  the  future.  The 
chime  of  the  welcome  school-bell  again  rang 
in  my  ears,  and  I  heard  the  halls  echo  with 
the  familiar  tread  of  many  feet,  and  mingling 
voices,  all  buoyant  with  hope  and  love. 

This  morning  I  engaged  a  friend  to  write 
for  me,  while  1  fancy  myself  whispering  in 
your  ear  the  story  of  all  that  grieves  me,  and 
wrings  every  joy  from  my  heart.  "  Truth  is 
often  stranger  tlian  fiction,"  and  the  tale  I  shall 
tell  you  needs  no  coloring.  Clara,  I arn,  blind! 
for  ever  shrouded  in  the  thick  darkness  of  an 
endless  night.  And  now,  when  I  look  down 
the  current  of  coming  years,  a  heavy  gloom 
settles  on  mc,  almost  to  suffocation.  Is  there 
any  sympathy  in  your  heart?  Oh  then  weep 
with  me,  for  now,  like  an  obstinate  prisoner,  1 
feel  my  spirit  struggling  to  be  free.    But  oh. 


94  A   PLACK  IN   THY  MEMORY. 

'tis  .'ill  in  vain,  'tis  all  over,  misery's  seirseem:3 
stopping  my  breath,  hope  is  dead,  and  my 
heart  sinks  within  me.  Clara,  I  am  in  a  land 
of  strangf-'s  too.  Stranger  voices  sound  in  my 
ears,  and  stranger  hands  smooth  my  brow, 
and  administer  to  my  wants.  1  see  them  not, 
but  I  know  they  have  learned  the  laws  of 
kindness.  I  love  them,  and  pray  Heaven  to 
hold  them  in  remembrance. 

But  let  me  change  the  subject.  The  first 
year  after  we  parted  at  school,  my  love  of 
knowledge  increased  every  day.  I  continued 
Italian  with  a  success  that  pleased  me.  I 
read  various  French  authors,  besides  trans- 
lating most  of  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures, 
reviewed  RoUin,  Sec. 

In  June  last,  Dr.  De  Kroyft  was  seized  with 
hemorrhage  of  the  lungs.  He  sent  for  me  and 
I  came  to  him.  Every  day  his  lips  grew 
vv'hiter,  and  the  deep  paleness  on  his  brow 
alarmed  me.  Now,  in  a  half-coughing  tone,  I 
iiear  him  say,  Helen,  I  fear  the  hand  of  con- 
sumption is  settling  on  me,  and  my  days  will 
soon  be  numbered.  On  the  afternoon  of  the 
Fourth  he  visited  me,  went  out,  and  returned 


I   SAW   HIM  DIE. 


95 


no  more.  Our  wedding-dav  came.  It  Avas 
his  wish,  and  by  liis  bedside  our  marriage 
was  confirmed.  Soon  after  I  saw  him  die. 
They  laid  him  in  the  ground,  and  I  heard  the 
fresh  dirt  rattle  on  his  narrow  home,  and  felt 
as  if  my  hold  on  life  had  left  me.    I  lingered 

in  R  a  little  time  longer.    How  I  got 

through  the  days  I  do  not  know.  William's 
room,  his  books,  and  the  garden  where  I  wept, 
are  all  I  remember,  until  I  awoke  one  morning 
and  my  eyes  were  swollen  tight  together.  1 
could  no  more  move  them,  or  lift  up  the  lids, 
than  roll  the  mountains  from  their  places. 
They  were  swollen  with  an  inflammation  that 
three  days  after  made  me  for  ever  blind — oh, 
the  word!  Like  the  thunders  of  Niagara  it 
was  more  than  I  could  hear.  Thus,  dear  Clara, 
'  in  simplicity.  I  have  told  you  all.  No,  not  the 
half.  Words  can  never  reach  the  feelings  that 
swell  my  heart,  imagination  can  never  paint 
tliem.  They  are  known  only  to  me.  Sorrow, 
melancholy,  blighted  hopes,  Vv^ounded  love, 
grief  and  despair,  clad  in  hues  of  darkness,  all 
brood  upon  my  silent  heart,  and  bitter  fear  is 
m  all  my  thoughts.    Oh,  what  will  become  of 


96 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


me?  Is  there  benevolence  in  this  ^vorld?  Must 
charity  supply  my  wants?  Will  there  be  al- 
ways some  hand  to  lead  me?  Have  the  blind 
ever  a  home  in  any  heart?  Does  any  thing 
ever  cheer  them?  Are  their  lives  always  use- 
less? Is  there  any  thing  they  can  do?  So  1 
question,  and  wonder,  until  with  morphine 
they  quiet  my  distracted  thoughts.  When  my 
eyes  were  swelling  as  if  they  would  quit  their 
sockets,  and  my  entire  being  was  racked  with 
pain,  forgive  me,  Clara,  I  did  question  if  there 
be  a  God  in  heaven  who  is  always  merciful. 
But  to-day,  in  the  calmness  of  better  feelings, 
my  confidence  is  unmoved,  and  "  though  he 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him."  Though  I 
do  not  feel  all  the  self-abnegation  of  Fcnelon. 
yet  I  am  certain  my  heavenly  Father  loves 
me,  and  will  grant  me  ever  his  protecting  care 
and  sustaining  grace.  Adieu,  but  think  of  me, 
and  pray  for  me  sometimes. 

P.  S.  Dear  Clara: — This  is  the  first  letter  I 
have  prompted  to  any  one,  and  is  it  possible 
that  I  am  never  again  to  write  with  my  own 
hand,  or  read  the  letters  of  my  friends  when 
they  come?    Oh  God!  save  me,  lest  I  mur- 


BEAUTIFUL,   THOUGH  FALLEN. 

mm.  You  must  write  my  dear  mother,  (l^laroi 
and  comfort  her,  for  I  cannot.     *    *    «    ♦  • 


Intlitution  for  the  Blind. 

Dear  Eliza  : — To-morrow  you  will  leave 
school,  you  say,  to  return  "  never  more."  Sol- 
emn words.  When  our  lovely  parent  Eve 
made  hor  last  round  of  delight  in  her  garden 
home,  played  gently  with  her  sportive  fawns, 
pressed  kisses  on  her  flowers,  and  hngercd  by 
Eden's  meandering  streams,  whose  murmurs 
seemed  a  lower  strain,  blending  sweetly  with 
the  songs  of  her  caressing  birds,  she  smiled 
sadly  on  all  she  loved,  and  passing  hurriedly 
the  closing  gate,  the  words  of  the  protecting 
Angel  lell  on  her  ear — "Never  more  !"  "never 
more !"  They  went  on,  Adam  and  Eve, 
m  autiful  though  fallen ;  thorns  grew  up  in 
Iheir  paths,  but  memory,  ever  wont  to  dwell  on 
what  is  pleasing,  often  reverted  to  lovely 
Eden,  its  laughing  brooks  and  fountains,  where 

seraphs  had  been  their  familiar  guessts ;  but 
5 


98  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

Eve  could  only  sigh  "  never  more !"  Tlie  winds 
and  the  zephyrs  caught  the  melancholy  air, 
and  to  the  farthest  verge  of  time  echo's  last  re- 
sponse will  be — "  Never  more,"  "  never  more."' 
When  first  the  fountain  of  a  mother's  feelings 
was  stirred,  looking  despairingly  on  the  form 
of  lier  child,  cold  in  death,  the  Angels  beheld 
what  till  then  they  had  never  seen,  a  spirit  or 
mortal  weeping  for  that  which  ma  y  return, 
never  more.  Tears  are  the  languo-e  of  feel- 
ing, the  dews  that  water  love,  and  keep  it 
alive  when  its  leaves  would  wither. 

Eliza,  believe  me,  it  is  better  that  you  learn 
early  what  hardships  are,  and  how  to  meet 
life's  many  ills.  Begin  now  to  shar  3  another's 
woe,  and  help  to  bear  the  burden  under  which 
thy  neighbor  may  be  sinking.  Check  often 
thy  mirth  and  go  to  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  school  thy  buoyant  voice  to  speak  sooth- 
ingly to  the  distressed.  Life  is  not  a  dream. 
Young  or  old,  we  have  always  something  to 
do,  and  something  to  bear.  Our  work  too  is 
here,  and  the  voice  of  beseeching  suffering 
calls  us  to  it.  and  the  cry  of  love  and  philan- 
thropy is,  "Come  over  and  help  us."  Fields 


IlAV^E   YOU   NOTHING    TO  DO? 


99 


ol  usefulness  are  as  many  as  tlie  doors  which 
enter  the  abodes  of  the  poor.  And  have  you 
nothing  to  do  1  Shall  your  hands  be  busy  only 
to  adorn  your  frail  body  and  twine  garlands 
of  flowers  ?  Have  you  no  energies  of  heart  and 
mind  to  spend  in  the  great  work  of  self-ciJ- 
ture,  and  the  amelioration  of  mankind  ?  The 
terms  you  have  passed  at  school,  have  enrich- 
ed your  heart  with  enlightened  feelings,  and 
stored  your  mind  with  new  and  aspiring 
thoughts ;  you  have  received  new  impulses  to 
your  progressive  nature,  and  enlargement  of 
your  mental  and  moral  capacities,  for  which 
you  are  answerable,  and  will  be  held  respon- 
sible to  the  great  Father  of  mankind.  The 
philanthropic  Howard,  speaking  of  a  young 
friend,  said,  "  She  taught  me  to  forget  myself 
and  live  for  my  neighbor."  Her  morning  and 
evening  visits  to  the  poor  were  simple  in  them- 
selves, but  in  their  effects  you  see  they  were 
boundless  and  lasting  as  eternity.  When 
Henry  Martin's  sister  hung  affectionately  about 
his  neck,  entreating  him  with  all  the  earnest- 
ness of  tears  to  remain  with  her,  he  replied : 
"Sister,  the  Saviour  you  taught  me  to  lova 


100 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORl. 


has  a  work  for  me  in  a  heathen  land,  and  1 
shall  go  to  it,  trusting  your  prayers  and  His 
love  will  sustain  me  there."  Such  homebound 
efibrts  and  examples  are  swelling  springs  in  the 
hillside,  whence  flow  multiplying  and  fertil- 
izing streams,  whose  healthful  influences  are 
felt  throughout  the  world.  They  are  seeds 
planted  here  to  blossom  in  a  higher,  holier 
life.  Now  while  you  are  lingering  on  ground 
so  hallowed,  so  sacred  to  the  heart  and  mem- 
ory of  both  teacher  and  scholar,  would  that 
some  heaven-born  resolve,  worthy  the  place 
and  the  hour,  might  find  a  lodgment  in  your 
thoughts,  and  a  resting  place  in  your  heart. 
It  is  the  misfortune  of  some  to  be  ever  vacil- 
lating between  good  purposes  and  their  non- 
performance. If  you  would  be  truly  useful, 
continued  and  persevering  action  must  mark 
your  every  course.  Take  unto  thyself  then  a 
standard  of  what  is  right,  and  make  all  else 
yield  thereunto.  Then,  what  though  thy 
smiles  fade  and  tears  come  in  their  stead,  and 
the  world  frown  darkly  on  thee,  if  so  there  be 
no  clouds  betAveen  thee  and  thy  God  ? 


LEARNING  MUSIC. 


101 


Brooklyn,  Anniversary  Week. 

Friend  Carry  : — The  last  six  months  1 
have  drummed  a  piano  at  the  rate  of  seven 
hom-s  per  day.  And  now,  when  1  see  how 
httle  I  have  acquired  that  is  really  useful,  I  am 
ready  to  exclaim  with  Mrs.  Hopkins'  cook,  "  Oh ! 
what  an  inglorious  way  of  spending  one's  time !" 
Music  is  indeed  a  science  of  difficult  attain- 
ment ind  in  order  to  excel,  even  the  mosi 
gifted  must  commence  it  in  early  life.  For 
however  well  one  may  understand  the  theor}', 

manual  skill  is  wanting. 

*  #  #  *  # 

The  British  bard  was  not  far  from  right 
when  he  said  "  in  life  there  is  no  present ;"  foi 
certainly  a  moment  is  no  sooner  here,  than  i< 
is  gone,  and  we  find  ourselves  either  drawing 
from  the  past,  or  robbing  an  imagined  future 
Remind  you,  dear,  of  mornings  in  the  old  sem- 
inary, when  your  room-mate,  Helen,  returned 
from  a  recitation,  and  in  girlish  glee  tossed  hei 
books  upon  the  table,  and  perchance  shook  yov 
tinti'  the  tasteful  braids  of  your  hair  tumbled 


102 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


down,  and  then,  to  make  ah  well,  kissed  70111 
lips,  and  promised  never  to  do  the  like  again. 
Carry,  as  I  loved  you  then,  I  love  you  now. 
Care  has  left  some  traces  upon  my  brow,  hut 
really  the  order  of  my  feelings  is  but  little 
changed.  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,  but  I  alwaya 
allow  myself  to  think  the  fault  is  in  the  place 
instead  of  my  eyes,  and  persuade  myself  I 
should  see  well  enough  if  the  blinds  were  only 
thrown  open,  or  the  lights  brought  in.  But  it 
is  not  so ;  the  windows  of  my  soul  are  surely 
darkened,  and  no  light  is  there,  save  the  un- 
borrowed lustre  of  its  own  jewels,  and  the 
mingled  rays  of  those  spirit  stars,  love  and 
hope,  which  never  set.  Cheered  by  their  light, 
Milton  w^ove  his  celestial  strains.  Gough  pur- 
sued his  botany,  culled  his  flowers,  and  ar- 
ranged his  plants  ;  the  Swiss  Huber  tended  his 
bees.  Buret  chiselled  marble,  and  Giovanni 
Gonelli  moulded  clay  into  forms  that  to  their 
gentle  touch  seemed  warming  into  life. 

I  wonder  if  St.  Paul  was  blind.  I  believe 
Hannah  More  in  her  beautiful  essay  upon  him, 
thuilcs  he  was.  If  so,  he  must  have  managed 
to  write  better  than  I  do,  or  there  was  no  need 


BROOKLYN   FEMALE   ACADEjMY.  103 

of  his  explaining  to  the  Corinthians,  that  he 
had  saluted  them  with  his  own  hand. 

Mr.  Crittenden  has  removed  from  Albany, 
and  presides  in  the  Brooklyn  Female  Academy 
Yesterday  I  attended  his  anniversary  exami- 
nation. I  thought  the  recitations  more  syste- 
matic and  thorough  than  any  I  have  e"ver 
heard  from  classes  composed  only  of  ladies. 

Besides,  I  like  Mr.  C.'s  mode  of  examining ; 
he  only  names  the  subject,  without  any  assisting 
interrogatories.  The  pupil  is  then  required  to 
follow  closely  the  reasonings  of  the  author, 
giving  his  ideas  in  her  own  words. 

The  recitations  were  mostly  heard  in  the 
library,  and  during  the  interim  of  classes  Miss 
Emily  gave  me  its  etceteras.  In  the  middle 
of  the  floor  is  a  large  case  of  birds,  gracefully 
perched,  but  voiceless  as  they  are  lifeless.  The 
books  are  new,  and  mostly  from  modern  and 
select  authors.  The  cabinets  are  quite  large, 
but  the  chemical  and  philosophical  apparatus 
is  yet  in  its  infancy,  though  they  say  it  is 
growing  fast.  The  picture  gallery  is  an  upper 
room,  lighted  from  the  sky.  Tlie  walls  are 
covered  with  pencillings  and  paintings  of  the 


104  A   PLACE   IN   THY  Mjm\I0R7. 

young  ladies.  It  is  c  ustomary  fox  .ach  tolcLve 
there  a  piece  of  her  work.  There  is  something 
in  this  idea  exceedingly  pleasing  to  me.  There 
stood  their  easels  with  half-finished  paintings 
on  them  ;  "  ekes  of  men  and  women,''  as  Kirke 
White  says ;  and  half-drawn  rivers,  and  out- 
lined ruins  of  cities  and  castles.  Last  evening 
we  heard  Strakosch  again,  the  celebrated  pia- 
nist to  the  Emperor  Nicholas.  I  wish  you 
could  once  hear  his  fingers  dance  through  the 
mazes  of  sound,  almost  up  to  the  highest  note 
in  all  nature,  which  Professor  Whitlock  says  is 
the  noise  the  musquito  makes  when  he  beats 
the  air  with  his  wings  ;  then  down  to  the  low 
flutter  of  the  miller,  and  the  far-olf  droppings 
of  falling  water.  His  style  is  so  fascinating, 
dear  me  !  if  all  the  Emperor's  subjects  are  like 
him,  1  envy  him  his  reign.  Why  it  would  be 
like  sitting  upon  the  summit  of  delight,  with 
harping  fairies  at  one's  feet.  Have  you  read  Mr. 
Jacob  Abbot's  "Crowned  Heads  of  Europe?' 
Not  long  since  I  passed  a  day  in  his  school. 
Being  near  the  close  of  the  term,  the  young 
ladies  were  exchanging  parting  gifts.  One  re- 
ceived a  Chinese  work-box,  and  gave  in  return 


I   WISH   Tlil.:Y   W^KE   BETTER  105 

a  beautiful  guitar,  and  a  volume  of  Jenny 
Lind's  songs,— -paintuigs,  books,  boxes,  card- 
cases,  bracelets,  rings,  daguerreotypes,  (fcc, 
vvere  among  their  tokens  of  school-day  love. 
About  the  whole  establishment  there  seemed 
an  air  of  wealth  and  refinement.  Mr.  Abbot 
was  exceedingly  affable  ;  he  spoke  very  freely 
of  his  travels,  books,  &c.  When  some  reference 
was  had  to  the  great  excellence  of  his  produc- 
tions, he  very  modestly  replied,  "  I  only  wish 
they  were  better."  Carry,  I  purposed  writing 
you  only  a  little  note,  but  really  I  have 
made  quite  a  letter  of  it,  if  indeed  the  stringing 
together  of  disjointed  sentences  can  in  any  case 
make  a  letter. 


Friend  Phin: — Not  more  welcome  could 
be  the  appearance  of  an  Inn  to  a  weary  tra 
veller,  than  was  your  kind  letter  to  me.  It 
came  when  it  so  happened  that  most  of  our 
seeing  people  were  absent,  and  with  it  in  hand, 
I  ran  many  times  from  first  to  third  story, 
rlodgiiig  in  at  every  door,  in  pursuit  of  a  pair 
5* 


106  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

of  eyes.  At  length  an  old  servant,  by  aid  of 
his  glasses,  spelled  out  the  name  upon  the 
margin,  and  my  curiosity  thus  much  reheved, 
1  went  on  with  my  practising.  We  have  no 
such  thing  here  as  music  with  raised  notes. 
We  are  all  taught  orally,  and  play  from  me- 
mory, the  same  as  I  would  have  learned  music 
elsewhere,  only  perhaps  more  scientifically.  I 
find  the  blind  folks  here  a  singular  sort  of 
people  indeed.  Their  habits,  manners,  and 
ideas  of  things  are  so  unlike  the  worlds  that 
"  I  am  to  them  all  a  foreigner,"  as  the  Paddy 
said  of  the  French.  *  *  *  *  Nq^^  Phin, 
you  are  not  far  from  right  when  you  call  this 
Institution  a  nunnery^  for  it  is  certainly  a  place 
where  ladies  retire  from  the  world,  and  never 
more  see  the  face  of  man.  Some  are  here  for 
life;  others  for  a  specified  time.  We  have 
nine  pianos  in  the  Institution,  and  some  eighty 
who  practise  upon  them,  which  affords  only 
one  hour  each  per  day.  We  have  also  two 
organs,  besides  violins,  flutes,  and  a  large  bra-^s 
band.  All  these  going.  I  quite  forget  I  am 
inclosed  with  iron  doors,  and  granite  walls 
and  seem  the  inhabitant  of  a  spirit  land,  where 


THERE   I   BREATHED   LOVERS   VOW.  107 


harmony  reigns,  anthems  are  ever  new,  and 
"  ever  throbs  with  melody  the  air." 

I  wish  you  would  come  over  some  time,  and 
take  a  run  wi  th  us  around  the  gymnastic  pole, 
a  walk  on  the  promenade  grounds,  or  a  swing 
m  what  they  call  the  scupp.  I  pass  an  hour 
every  morning  in  the  upper  piazza,  on  the  side 
of  the  building  that  looks  away  towards  Ro- 
chester. Oh  truly,  the  faiiest  land  is  where 
our  friends  abide.  Rochester  has  been  to  me 
an  eventful  place.  There  my  eyes  first  opened 
to  this  beautiful  world,  and  there  they  closed 
upon  its  glories  for  ever.  There  I  learned  to 
love,  and  there  I  breathed  love's  vows;  there 
I  saw  the  guardian  angel  break  the  idol  of  my 
affections;  there,  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow 
and  care,  strangers  took  me  up,  and  blessed 
me,  and  loved  me  too.  Oh  chide  me  not  then, 
if,  more  than  all  the  world  beside,  I  love  the 
warm  hearts  of  Rochester. 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY 


fit  one  Cclta^e^ 

The  sVars  are  bright  on  the  brook  by  the 
door,  as  if  they  had  ahghted  there,  awhile  to 
bathe  and  watch  their  shadows  in  the  sky 
whence  they  came.  Night,  oh  lovely  night; 
in  thy  peaceful  hours  the  heart  is  ever  wont 
to  go  abroad  in  search  of  those  it  holds  most 
dear.  The  last  hour,  Nin  has  been  reading  me 
"  The  Lays  of  Many  Hours,"  by  Miss  Maylin, 
of  Salem,  New  Jersey,  a  cousin  of  the  distin- 
guished Dr.  Bo  wring,  of  England:  there  is  a 
beautiful  ease  in  the  tread  of  her  fancies,  which 
reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Embury. 

Yesterday  we  finished  "  The  Neighbors,'- 
and  in  the  evening  paper  saw  a  notice,  that 
its  fair  authoress  is  on  her  way  to  our  country. 
I  wonder  who  will  go  out  to  meet  her.  Cer- 
tainly, the  ladiss  of  our  land  should  do  some- 
thing to  signalize  their  gratitude  and  esteem 
for  one  of  their  sisters,  from  whom  they  have 
received  so  many  lessons  of  literary  and  do- 
mestic instruction.       #        *        *  ♦ 

Nine  summers  ago,  in  a  neat  school-room,  a 


1  : 

COUSIN  WILI>.  109 

little  way  down  the  hill  from  niy  iincle'Sj  1 
played  the  school-mistress.  One  day,  a  black- 
eyed,  curly-headed  little  boy,  with  a  green  sat- 
chel on  his  arm  and  a  straw  hat  in  his  hand, 
walked  into  the  room  and  accosted  me  so 
handsomely,  that  I  was  straightway  in  love 
with  him;  and  when  I  asked  his  name,  he 
replied  promptly,  "  Master  William  Lovejoy, 
Ma'am;  my  father  and  mother  are  travelling 
this  summer,  and  if  you  please,  they  have  sent 
me  to  attend  your  school."  "  Ah !  "  said  I, 
we  are  indeed  very  happy  to  welcome  you  one 
of  our  little  number."  Then  by  way  of  atten- 
tion, I  gave  him  a  conspicuous  seat,  hung  up 
his  hat,  then  opened  his  satchel  and  looked 
over  his  books,  smoothed  down  his  curls,  and 
patted  his  rosy  cheeks,  until  the  new-comer 
seemed  to  feel  himself  quite  at  home ;  then  I 
went  on  again  hearing  my  little  ones  read 
their  a,  b,  c,  and  spell  out  their  b  1  a,  bla !  But 
ever  and  anon  my  eyes  wandered  to  little 
William's  seat;  and  as  often  met  his^  glancing 
ever  his  shoulder,  peeping  quizzingly  into  the 
face  of  one,  and  exchanging  knowing  looks 
with  another,  and  N\\QXi  he  saw  me  observing 


110  A   PLACE   IN   HIY  MEMORY. 

him,  half  laughed,  and  looked  on  his  hooV. 
again. 

I  soon  learned  that  his  mother  was  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  my  aunt,  which  served  not  a 
little  to  increase  the  interest  I  already  felt  in 
my  »iew  pupil.  However,  the  sammer  wore 
away,  the  school  closed,  William's  parents  re- 
turned and  took  him  to  their  home.  Another 
summer  passed,  and  my  dear  aunt  died.  I 
saw  them  lay  her  in  the  grave  ;  and  shortly  af- 
ter William's  mother  came  to  me,  saying, 
"  Evermore  I  will  be  your  aunt,  and  my  home 
shall  be  your  home."  And  his  father  added, 
"  Yes  ;  and  if  she  will  be  a  good  girl,  she  may 
have  me  for  her  uncle  ;"  "  and  me  for  Cousin 
Will,"  shouted  a  sweet  voice,  and  with  his  arms 
around  my  neck,  half  said  and  half  kissed 
Cousin  Helen,  on  my  tearful  cheek. 

A  few  years  after,  when  these  rayless  shades 
had  but  lately  gathered  about  me,  a  letter  from 
Cousin  Will  first  broke  my  melancholy. — 
"  Come  to  us,"  said  he  ;  "  we  think  of  you  aV 
the  time.  Come,  do  come  soon ;  bring  all  your 
books  and  every  thing.  Mother  and  I  have 
made  all  t)'.e  plans  for  the  winter — what  we 


SCHOOL-DAY  RELICS. 


shall  read,  and  where  we  shall  go,  and  so 
on.  Your  pet  table  has  been  in  my  room  this 
summer,  and  that  old  chair  with  the  squeak- 
ing back  you  loved  so  well  ;  but  they  are  all 
replaced  now,  and  it  looks  there  again  as  if  my 
dear  coz.  had  but  just  stepped  out."  *  *  * 
Friday,  you  know,  was  our  National  Fast 
Day.  I  took  no  supper  the  previous  evening, 
nor  breakfast  the  next  morning  ;  attended 
church  at  St.  Luke's  ;  heard  Marion  play. 
During  the  service  I  took  it  into  my  head  and 
heart  to  be  lonely,  and  on  my  way  home  said 
to  sister,  "  Come,  let  as  go  and  see  v/hat  time 
the  stage  leaves  for  F."  In  spite  of  her  re- 
monstrances we  did  so,  and  at  three  I  took  a 
seat  for  a  ride  of  twelve  miles,  over  to  the  home 
of  my  black-eyed,  curly-headed  Cousin  Will. 
There  all  my  books  and  papers  were,  and  all 
my  letters  since  I  first  began  to  write,  and  all 
the  little  relics  of  my  school-days,  which  Cousin 
Will  read  for  me,  and  I  tore  them  in  pieces  and 
burned  them.  Not  a  scrap  have  I  left  which 
has  my  handwriting  on  it,  save  a  little  French 
song  which  I  copied  a  long  time  ago.  That  1 
pre.served  for  you,  and  a  drawing  of  a  littlf 


j        112  A   PLAC£   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

j     tired  deer  crawled  among  the  brambles  to  ' 
die.    In  my  Bible  I  found  a  book-mark  whicn 
I  send  you,  for  my  hands  will  do  those  things 
no  more. 

Many  days  Cousin  Will  and  1  liave  wan- 
dered together  in  the  woods,  and  under  the  old 
elm  tree,  a  little  back  of  the  house,  read  poetry  j 
hours  together,  until  his  speaking  eyes  saw  I 
beauty  in  every  thing.  Now,  we  wandered  I 
over  the  same  grounds,  he  guiding  me,  where  | 
long  ago  I  led  him.       *       ♦       «       ♦  • 


Long  Island,  Water  Cure,  Avg.  30,  1848. 

It  was  a  chance  breeze  that  blew  us  to-  { 
gether,  and  Monday  morning  the  same  bore 
us  apart.    "We  met  as  strangers  always  meet, 
but  our  spirits  came  very  soon  to  know  each 
other  ;  we  talked  freely,  you  were  very  kind,  | 
and  I  of  course  liked  you  for  that.    Next  I  ! 
learned  to  esteem  you,  for  I  thought  you  just 
and  good.    I  fancied  a  native  love  of  right,  ; 
interwoven  with  every  lineament  of  yoiir  \ 


A   NEW  FKIEND. 


113 


noble  features,  and  expressed  in  every  air  ol 
your  manly  bearing.  In  short,  from  our  little 
acquaintance,  I  have  gathered  the  impression 
that  you  are  a  generous,  high-souled  nature, 
tnat  you  had  rather  lay  down  your  life  than 
condescend  to  a  wrong  act.  I  prize  your 
friendship,  and  evermore,  if  it  be  your  pleasure, 
I  will  count  you  in  the  list  of  my  correspond- 
ing friends.  Let  the  world  frown  ever  so 
darkly,  or  prosperity  smile  ever  so  charmingly, 
it  will  be  all  the  same ;  in  my  confidence  and 
snnple  affections  there  will  ever  be  a  place  for 
you ;  and  as  you  said  in  your  good-by  to  Mrs. 

IT  ,  "  once  in  a  very  long  time  think  just  a 

little  of  me,"  so  I  will  say  to  you.  Think  of 
me  only  when  you  can  get  no  subject  of 
thought  more  engaging,  or  find  feelings  to 
share  more  congenial.  Could  you  have  look- 
ed back  on  us  the  day  after  you  left,  and 
beheld  what  a  gap  your  departure  made  in 
our  circle,  I  think  you  would  have  acknow- 
ledged yourself  complimented,  if  not  a  little 
ilattered.  Every  time  the  ladies  met  they 
regietted  your  departure,  but  the  gentleman 
sat  round  in  the  piazza  grinning,  as  if  the} 


114  A    PI  ACE    IX   THY    MEMORY.  ! 

wero  glad  of  it.     That  little  Swede  has  so 
stepped  into  the  good  graces  of  the  young 
ladies,  that  they  have  nearly  adopted  him  j| 
Beau  General,  in  your  place.    He  has  told  me  j 
many  little  incidents  of  his  history  which  j 
interest  me  much.    Since  he  has  been  in  our  | 
countiy,  he  has  supported  his  aged  father  by 
his  hard  earnings,  the  poor  man  meantime 
supposing  his  son  amassing  a  fortune  in  the 
New  World.    He  knew  the  Bremers,  and  his 
accounts  of  them  are  very  pleasing.  i 

Dr.  R  plays  matron  this  week,  and  ' 

(he  patients  d.o  nothing  but  brag  of  their  fare, 
and  say  no  more  about  going  away.  We 
have  such  excellent  bread  and  delicious  grid- 
dle-cakes ;  and  such  magnificent  mush,  so 
coarse  ground,  the  kernels  niust  have  been  \i 
cracked  three  into  one.  You  write  very 
enticingly  of  the  City,  but  you  have  no  sea 
breeze  there,  no  hills  to  gaze  upon,  no  Sound, 
no  beautiful  bd.y  and  woods  with  sleeping 
lakes  among  ;  no  brooks  where  to  wander,  oi 
hills  to  climb. 

I  received  a  note  from  my  good  friend  Mr. 
D  ,  to-day,  from  which  I  infer  he  has  nof 


BE   WISE  BE   GOOD.  115 

received  mine  by  you.  Please  get  it  to  him 
as  soon  as  convenient.  Kind  regards  to  youi 
fun-making  brother.  May  he  always  be 
merry  as  now — oh  no,  I  will  take  that  back. 
Reverses  and  disappointments  make  us  con- 
siderate. "VVe  are  here  to  be  prepared  for 
another  life,  and  the  course  best  for  us  our 
Heavenly  Father  will  mark  out,  and  thither 
our  footsteps  must  fall.  Be  wise,  be  good,  be 
truthful  to  thyself,  and  fear  God,  that  thou 
mayest  be  happy  here,  and  numbered  with  the 
blest  hereafter. 

P.  S.  The  long  road  you  taught  us  over  the 
hill,  Kate  and  I  walk  three  times  every  day ; 
often  stopping  on  the  brow  of  it,  to  roll  the 
stones  far  below.  Then  we  trudge  on,  talking 
sometimes  delightedly  and  sometimes  sadly. 
Do  not  indulge  too  freely  in  those  good  things, 
or  you  will  have  lo  return  here,  where  you 
know  self-denial  is  not  only  a  virtue  but  part 
of  the  treatment. 

Yesterday  a  party  of  us  sailed  up  the  Sound, 
and  passed  an  hour  in  the  house  where 
General  Washington,  soon  after  the  war,  in 
his  tour  of  Long  Island,  stopped  over  nighi 


116  A   PLACE    iN   THY  MEMORY. 

with  his  friend  Daniel  Young.  A  son  cf  the 
same  gentleman  resides  there  still,  but  his 
head  is  covered  with  the  "garniture  of  the 
grave,"  and  like  the  roof  that  shelters  him,  he 
must  soon  fall  to  the  earth. 


Long  Island  Water  Cure,  Avg.  1848. 

My  Good  Friend  Mr.  D.  : — I  have  waited 
these  many  days  hoping  to  find  a  nand  long 
enough  above  water  to  write  you.  The  sail  in 
company  with  your  excellent  friend,  Vice 
Chancellor  McC.  and  Mrs.  N.,  (to  whom  he 
introduced  me  soon  after  you  left,)  was  delight- 
ful indeed.  The  briny  air  of  the  Sound  was 
free  and  bracing,  and  over  those  peaches  our 
chat  was  more  like  the  meeting  of  familiar 
friends,  than  the  growuig  converse  of  stran- 
gers. 

Dr.  S.  met  me  at  the  landing,  as  you  and  he 
had  arranged,  and  his  cordial  reception  quite 
banished  all  my  fears.  It  was  the  same  at  the 
house;  indeed  they  a  1  seemed  to  know  me,  and 


WATER^CURC  PATIENTS. 


Ill 


as  they  gathered  round,  one  after  anothei,  foi 
mtroductions,  I  verily  thought  myself  breath- 
ing anew  atmosphere,  and  shakmg  hands  with 
the  people  from  a  climate  at  least  forty  degrees 
warmer  than  Institution  latitude.  Pardon  my 
detail,  but  I  wish  to  tell  you  as  much  as  pos- 
sible of  the  kindness  of  Dr.  S.  He  seated  me 
at  table  next  himself,  directly  opposite  Mrs.  N., 
and  every  attention  possible  has  so  far  been 
paid  me. 

We  have  a  very  pleasant  company  of  ladies. 
The  gentlemen  are  representatives  of  almost 
every  nation,  all  however  very  affable  and  en- 
tertainmg.  An  English  officer,  who  was 
wounded  while  engaged  in  the  Queen's  ser- 
vice in  India,  seems  a  sort  of  walking  Ency- 
clopedia, a  perfect  embodiment  of  general  in- 
ttlligence ;  this,  united  with  an  eloquent  voice, 
makes  him  quite  the  intellectual  star  of  our 
circle,  and  as  we  are  allowed  no  time  for  read- 
hig,  it  is  fortunate  to  have  such  an  inexhausti- 
ble fund  to  draw  from.  There  is  a  gentleman 
here  too  from  St.  Petersburgh,  whose  father 
was  d  Russian  general,  his  mother  a  Polish 
lady,  and  when  the  country  of  the  latter  struck 


118  A    PLACE   I\   IIIY  .-MEMORY. 

for  freedonij  the  son  "bared  his  breast"  for  the 
land  of  his  mother,  and  of  course  can  return 
to  his  home  no  more.  He  is  gallant  as  a 
knight,  and  affable  as  a  Frenchman,  and  more 
kind  and  attentive  to  the  wants  of  all,  thaii 
any  one  here. 

Knowing  this  to  be  the  resort  of  invalids,  I 
expected  to  find  all  very  quiet  and  sad,  but  a 
more  merry  group  I  never  met.  Here,  to  get 
well,  the  patients  have  a  round  of  duties  to 
perform,  each  tasked  according  to  his  ability. 
Indeed  exercise  is  an  important  part  of  the 
treatment.  When  I  arrived,  some  were  play- 
ing ball,  others  were  returning  from  long 
walks  ;  some  singing,  playing  the  piano,  organ, 
guitar,  violin,  and  so  on.  We  have  one  sub- 
ject of  conversation  which  never  wears  out, 
that  is,  diet^  diet.  They  say  it  is  the  same  at 
all  establishments  of  this  kind  ;  the  treatment 
makes  people  hungry ;  and  besides,  we  are 
obliged  to  hve  plainly,  and  one  meal  is  no 
sooner  over,  than  little  groups  in  the  piazza 
and  all  around  are  talking  about  what  they 
will  have  to  eat  the  next  time.    Some  have 


SHROTES'   HUNGER  CURE. 


110 


their  food  weighed  to  them.  Eight  ounces  of 
coarse  bread,  or  its  equivalent,  is,  I  beheve,  ah 
that  many  are  allowed. 

Dr,  S.  is  at  present  giving  us  a  course  of  lec- 
tures upon  Shrotes'  theory  of  the  Hunger 
Cure.  This  is  indeed  the  strangest  thing  I 
have  heard  yet,  starving  a  man  to  make  him 
well,  Shrotes'  establishment  is  a  little  way 
up  the  mountain  beyond  Priessnitz.  Dr.  S. 
says  he  actually  saw  and  conversed  with  a 
man  there,  who  had  not  tasted  food  nor  water 
for  seven  days,  save  what  his  body  drank  in 
from  the  surface,  as  he  was  every  day  several 
hours  rolled  in  damp  sheets. 

Dr.  N.,  President  of  Union  College,  is  here^ 
receiving  treatment  for  inflammatory  rheuma- 
tism. When  he  came  he  was  moved  only  in 
his  arm-chair,  which  has  a  wheel  on  each  side, 
and  so  constructed  that  he  rolls  it  himself  by 
means  of  two  levers.  This  morning  he  walked 
3  little  way  on  the  piazza  alone,  and  oh  !  how 
delighted  he  was,  but  he  is  yet  a  very  great  suf- 
ferer. A  fiiend  in  New- York  sends  him  every 
morning  a  basket  of  choice  fruit,  from  which  I 


120 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


am  often  favored.  Mrs.  N.  has  promised  me  a 
ride  in  their  Uttle  three-wheeled  carriage,  a 
kind  of  vehicle  that  I  never  saw. 

My  heakh  is  certainly  improving;  cold  water 
or  something  else  has  so  shocked  my  nervous 
energies  into  life,  that  I  can  already  walk 
several  miles  in  a  day.  The  treatment  is  not 
so  disagreeable  as  I  feared,  and  on  the  whole 
I  am  passing  my  time  very  pleasantly.  In- 
deed I  am  entering  into  the  full  spirit  of  the 
water  cure,  and  its  every  variety  of  bath. 
However,  Mr.  D.,  I  shall  heed  your  caution  to 
examine  every  day  my  fingers  and  toes,  and 
when  I  see  them  showing  any  signs  of  being 
connected  by  those  thin  membraneous  sub- 
stances, known  to  naturalists  as  wehs^  I  will 
most  assuredly,  as  you  say,  ask  the  doctor  for 
his  bill,  and  hurry  hom.e ;  for  I  have  no  idea 
of  joining  any  of  the  finny  tribes,  whatever 
else  may  become  of  me.  I  can  hardly  think 
it  possible  that  you  wrote  your  last  in  an  at- 
mosphere heated  to  92°  Fahrenheit.  Indeed 
if  Hamlet  had  been  with  you,  he  might  have 
realized  personally  his  prayer — 


THE   YOUNG   BARON.  121 

**  Oh  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  molt. 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew." 

You  say,  if  Hydropathy.  Allopathy  and  Ho 
moepatliy  fail,  there  is  still  left  Chrono-Ther- 
mal  treatment.  I  do  not  know  what  that  is. 
but  fancy  I  should  prefer  Shrotes'  fasting  plan 
as  my  "  dernier  resort.^^ 


New-York  Institution  for  the  Blind, 
March  22nd,  1849. 

When  I  heard  of  the  cholera  in  New  Or- 
leans, I  easily  imagined  the  sad  dilemma  you 
were  in.  I  saw  you  in  the  lonely  hotel  tread- 
ing the  floor,  then  stopping  short,  lost  in  trou- 
bled thought.  I  saw  too  the  shadow  of  gloom 
that  settled  on  your  brow,  and  though  far 
away,  be  assured  I  shared  your  fears,  for  I 
knew  it  was  not  for  yourself  you  were  suifer- 
ing.  Is  it  not  possible  that  we  have  misnamed 
i  part  of  oui  Heavenly  Father's  dispensations, 
for  coming  as  they  do,  all  from  the  same  hand, 
why  are  they  not  all  good?  I  wish  I  could 
say  something  this  morning  that  would  divest 
6 


122 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


you  of  every  care,  and  banish  every  shade 
from  your  thoughts.  But  the  bravest  and  best 
have  been  those  whose  pilgrim  feet  were  of- 
tenest  torn.  ***** 

Across  the  way  are  some  Germans,  among 
them  a  young  Baron  who  is  sorely  distressed, 
and  my  heart  aches  for  him.  Though  but 
nineteen  years  old  he  has  passed  the  ordeal  of 
the  Mexican  war,  and  is  now  suffering  its 
painful  consequences.  God  pity  the  youth 
whose  inexperienced  feet  have  wandered  so 
far  from  his  home,  where  he  has  no  one  to 
speak  an  encouraging  word  or  lead  him  again 
in  the  right  way.  His  brother  is  one  of  the 
principal  actors  in  the  present  revolutions  of 
Germany,  and  his  poor  mother  writes  that  her 
pillow  is  never  dry  from  her  tears  for  her  lost 
son. 

When  Julian  was  here  last  we  went  to  see 
him.  What  a  good  creature  Julian  is;  he 
seems  to  me  the  very  personation  of  truthful- 
ness and  benevolence.  I  wish  you  could  have 
heard  his  encouraging  advice  to  that  young 
Baron.  Beside  being  unsophisticated  and  un- 
assuming, he  is  nobly  generous,  frank,  and 


MY   LITTLE  HOME. 


123 


straightforward  as  a  sunbeam;  united  with 
the  artless  iiniocence  of  youth,  lie  possesses 
the  stirring  energies  of  a  man,  and  that  un- 
compromising integrity  which  characterizes  all 
his  ways,  must  secure  him  success  in  any  un- 
dertaking. He  seems  very  much  pleased  with 
that  little  Miss  A.,  but  says  he  is  not  in  a  posi- 
tion to  marry,  so  you  see  he  is  discreet  withal. 

Sometimes  he  brings  up  his  guitar,  and  really 
he  plays  and  sings  with  a  great  deal  of  taste. 

Well,  it  has  at  last  come  to  this  :  they  say  I 
must  get  my  home  by  making  a  book,  and  ad- 
vise me  to  publish  a  little  volume  of  my  letters. 
Mr.  C.  and  Mr.  D.  say  they  will  help  me  all 
they  can,  and  I  am  half  a  mind  to  undertake 
it.  Do  not  say  one  discouraging  word,  for  I 
have  already  too  many  fears  to  insure  success. 
But  never  mind ;  I  shall  yet  by  some  means 
have  that  httle  cottage,  little  parlor,  little 
kitchen,  and  little  cook,  little  carriage,  little 
pony,  httle  driver,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
My  amanuensis  is  laughing, — I  suppose  she  is 
thinking  what  gay  times  you  \vill  all  have 
when  you  come  to  see  me,  and  Mr.  M.  too, 


124 


A   PLACL   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


with  his  wife  and  fortune.  Mr.  B.  better  huiTy 
up,  for  Mr.  M.  does  not  brin^  so  many  oranges 
here  for  nothing  ;  besides,  you  know  S.  is  very 
susceptible  of  the  tender  emotion.  I  hope  nei- 
ther of  them  will  trifle  with  her  feelings,  for  ] 
with  her  such  an  injury  would  be  irreparable, 
as  she  is  so  inexperienced  in  such  matters. 

I  have  just  two  things  more  to  write  you : 
first,  I  anticipate  your  visit  to  New- York, 
second,  I  hope  it  will  be  soon,  ana  for  the  sake 
of  euphony  I  will  add  a  third  ;  there  is  no 
good  in  this  life  that  I  do  not  pray  may  be 
yours.    I  have  always  told  you  more  pros- 
perous days  will  come  ;  and  I  feel  now  that 
their  dawning  has  begun.    Put  on  3'our  feet 
the  sandals  of  sincerity,  fastened  with  the 
buckles  of  integrity;  bind  about  your  heart 
the  noble  principles  of  Christianity  ;  in  a  word, 
take  up  yourself  just  as  you  are,  and  go  forth. 
If  barriers  are  in  the  way,  wait  not  to  remove  | 
them,  but,  like  the  heroes  of  old,  boldly  tread  ! 
tliem  down ;  and  when  the  sun  has  crossed  | 
the  sky  a  few  more  times,  yon  will  be  in  pos-  || 
session  of  what  you  so  much  desire.  [ ! 

You  say  my  friend  Sarah  is  beautiful  ;  more     j  1 


I — 


OLD   CLAIMS   REGARDED.  125 

than  that,  she  is  good.  I  have  never  known 
a  young  lady  across  whose  mind  the  shadow 
of  change  so  seldom  faUs.  As  you  see  her 
first,  so  she  is  ever  after,  joyous,  kind  and  af- 
fectionate ;  Mrs.  S.,  her  aunt,  is  a  very  model 
of  female  excellence ;  and  her  son  Willie  is 
well  worthy  such  a  mother.  Sut  the  rest  of 
them  are  mortals  like  myself. 

You  and  David  must  visit  fast  as  possible. 
Try  on  each  other's  coats  and  hats,  and  ex- 
claim. What  perfect  fits !"  pay  each  other 
compliments,  as  you  gentlemen  do,  get  angry, 
make  up  friends,  (fee.  (fee,  then  set  your  face 
eastward.  1  give  you  leave  to  stop  in  R.,  and 
say  all  the  nice  things  possible  to  Miss  M., 
only  so  you  say  them  fast.  But  you  and 
Sibyl  need  not  flatter  yourselves  that  I  shall 
again  sit  quiet  and  let  you  two  talk  all  the 
time ;  and  spar,  and  cast  out  your  leads  to 
sound  each  other ;  not  a  bit  of  it.  I  knew  you 
long  first,  and  old  claims  should  always  be 
regarded ;  besides  you  are  not  to  look  at  hei 
while  you  talk  to  me  either.  I  will  leave  it  to 
David  if  I  am  not  right,  and  not  at  all  exact- 
ing. 


126 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  ME.MO^V. 


I  wish  there  was  in  tliis  world  one  other 
spirit  that  now  and  then  could  fly  ofl'  in  tan- 
gent raptures,  like  poor  Ned.  Why,  thoy 
might  have  all  the  ecstasies  of  seven  worlds 
crowded  into  this  one  little  terraqueous  wheel- 
ing orb,  and  yet  talk  of  brighter  days  to  come 
He  has  come  hon^e  again  from  the  South, 
with  his  head  so  completely  turned  with  admi- 
ration for  that  little  Creole,  that  he  talks  of 
her  all  the  time,  when  not  abusing  his  bad 
English. 


Geneva^  June,  1848. 

Cousin  Will  : — I  have  lived  long  enough 
to  learn  that  things  are  not  always  what  they 
seem.  As  ripples  play  lightly  upon  the  smooth 
surface  of  a  summer  sea,  while  far  below  dark 
and  turbid  waters  are  waiting  the  storm-god  to 
move  them  to  fury,  so  a  smiling  brow,  often 
conceals  a  storm  of  revengeful  passion.  Words 
of  love  and  friendship  often  tremble  on  the 
lips,  while  cui  ses  nestle  in  the  heart.  So  all 
through  life,  things  are  not  v:hat  they  seem. 


APPEARANCES   DECEIVING.  121 

A.  show  of  affluence  is  often  as  true  an  index 
of  poverty,  as  want  itself.  The  poorest  of  the 
metals  is  often  mistaken  for  the  richest  coin ;  so 
by  means  of  art  and  worldly  tact,  man  may 
palm  off  his  ignorance  for  knowledge,  and  his 
vice  for  virtue.  So  again,  a  man  of  wisdom, 
clad  in  mean  attire,  and  surrounded  by  homely 
circumstances,  may  be  as  easily  mistaken  for 
the  ignorant  and  unaspiring.  When  the  mo- 
tive is  not  known  or  appreciated,  how  differ- 
ently the  act  appears ;  and  we  find  ourselves 
to-day  censurmg  a  deed  which  to-morrow  we 
may  loudly  applaud.  Therefore,  "Be  nOt 
wise  in  thine  own  conceit,"  and  "  Judge  not, 
that  ye  be  not  judged,"  are  sayings  worthy  of 
all  acceptation.  The  youth  who  to-day  plays 
on  the  green  with  a  herd  of  other  ragged  lads, 
observed  but  to  be  pitied,  may  in  a  few  years 
contend  honors  with  La  Place  and  Newton, 
and  read  titles  with  Lord  Rosse  and  the  starry 
Le  Verrier. 

*         •         •         •  • 


! 


128  A   PI.ACE   IN   THY  MEMORY 


My  dear  Mrs.  Snow. — I  have  no  "sight  Ij 
seeings  in  Europe  "  to  picture  you,  no  history  j 
of  blood  and  tears  to  write,  no  storms  of  ocean, 
nor  chistered  beauties  of  Naples,  and  its  rival 
bay  Rio  Janeiro  to  describe,  nor  ruins  to  paint, 
save  those  of  a  broken  heart ;  among  which 
the  voice  of  buried  love  ever  moans,  like  the 
sighings  of  decay  amid  fallen  temples  and  j 
mouldering  castles. 

We  have  our  preferences  as  well  for  things 
as  persons.  Of  all  the  trees  on  these  grounds  I 
love  most  this  branching  mulberry  ;  it  shades 
me  oftenest  when  the  sun  is  bright,  and  when 
the  night  dews  are  heavy  on  its  leaves,  i^ 
covers  still  my  brow,  till  long  after  the  moon 
has  waned  and  many  stars  have  set.  Oh, 
never  breathe  to  human  ear  thy  sorrow,  but 
soothe  thy  grief  in  humble  prayer ;  and  when 
tliy  full  heart  goes  up  to  Heaven,  let  none  but 
spirits  hear. 

My  hand  has  become  a  perfect  truant,  placing 
the  letters  now  on  one  side  of  the  line,  and 
now  on  tlie  other ;  to  remedy  this  we  use  a  j 


! 


NOTHING   COULD    JALL   THEM   BACK.  129 

grooved  card  under  the  paper  and  write  with 
a  pencil,  which  accoiuits  for  the  strange-look 
iiig  sheet  I  send  you.  -  Not  long  since  I  heard 

Dr.  T  say  in  a  sermon,  "  it  is  a  principle 

of  our  nature  to  prize  that  highest  we  are  most 
troubled  to  get;"  no  matter,  then,  if  you  are 
puzzled  a  little  to  decipher  these  erratic 
words. 

Four  weeks  ago  our  school  closed  ;  and  a 
party  of  some  fifty  went  on  board  the  Santa 
Claus  for  Albany,  thence  by  the  cars  to  their 
respective  residences.  Others  on  the  same 
day  left  for  their  homes  in  New- York  and  its 
vicinity,  till  very,  very  few  were  left.  Night 
came,  and  the  halls  and  corridors,  so  accus- 
tomed to  echo  with  merry  laugh  and  tread, 
and  sounds  of  music,  from  the  large  organ 
down  to  the  trumpet  whistle,  were  all  silent ; 
and  depm^tiire  seemed  whispered  every  where. 
Little  Henry,  who  ran  back  to  the  sick  room 
once  more  to  say  good-hy  to  poor  Jakey,  was 
unfortuiiately  left.  When  he  returned  to  the 
lower  hall,  behold,  the  omnibuses  were  far 
away,  and  nothing  could  call  them  back  ot 
stay  their  progress.  We  tried  to  comfort  him, 
6* 


130  A   PLACE   IN   ThV  MEMORY. 

but  all  his  full  heart  could  say  was,  '  /  want 
to  go  homeP 

The  moon  was  on  the  hills,  the  stars  came 
out,  and  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen  beauti- 
fully on  all  the  weary  world ;  w^e  were  sleep- 
ing forgetful  and  happy,  when  suddenly  the 
spacious  dormitory,  the  chapel,  and  all  the 
empty  rooms  were  filled  with  sweet  sounds, 
which  seemed  pouring  in  at  the  windows  and 
sifting  down  from  among  the  trees.  "  What 
is  it,  and  where  is  it?"  every  one  starting  up, 
almost  wondering  if  the  spirits  of  the  Blind 
had  not  come  back  to  serenade  those  they  had 
left.  "  The  Bird  Waltz,"  says  one,  as  its 
chirpings  were  echoing  every  where  ;  it  was 
none  other  than  the  Christies  themselves, 
gathered  among  the  firs  in  the  front  yard  to 
give  our  loneliness  a  serenade.  They  played 
long  and  beautifully.  Lovely  May  and  other 
of  their  Ethiopian  songs  were  never  half  so 
sweet,  for  which  we  could  make  them  no  com- 
pliments.  We  had  no  bouquets  to  toss  them, 
no  lamps  to  hght,  and  could  only  enjoy  theij 
music  in  silence  ;  but  when  our  quick  ears 
followed  their  departing  footsteps,  our  love  and 


WE   WERE  LONELl. 


131 


gralituds  would  have  turned  their  harps  to 
gold,  such  as  minstrels  wake  beyond  the 
sky. 

In  the  morning,  as  each  seemed  to  know  better 
the  feelings  of  the  other,  we  were  more  silent, 
and  our  breakfast  had  little  relish.  One  after 
another  left  the  dining-room,  till,  when  the 
moment  came  for  the  bell,  there  were  none  to 
dismiss.  I  took  my  portfolio  and  came  to  this 
favorite  tree.  Presently  the  girls  began  to 
pass,  walking  as  usual,  two  and  two,  with 
their  arms  encircling  each  other's  waist,  for 
the  mutual  protection  it  affords.  Says  one 
to  her  mate,  "  During  vacation  I  will  teach 
you  six  songs,  with  the  symphonies  and 
accompaniments,  if  you  will  teach  me  those 
Herz's  Exercises  you  know,  and  some  pieces 
of  Mozart  and  Haydn."  "Agreed,"  was  the 
reply ;  "  I  will  tell  you  one  of  them  now,  and 
then  we  will  go  and  practise  it."  Said  an- 
other, "  When  I  finish  my  spread,  I'm  going 
to  knit  a  purse-  and  bag  to  send  to  my  aunt." 
Another,  "  I  shall  knit  nothing  but  star  and 
oak-leaf  tidies  this  vacation,  and  one  coat  for  a 
present  to  little  Georgie ;"  so  they  went  on, 


132 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


"  innocent  creatures,"  crossing  again  and  again 
the  angling  walks,  som)  counting  the  positions 
and  bars  of  music,  some  planning  pastimes, 
and  others  wondering  who  of  theii  mates  had 
reached  Home. 

''Come,  sit  you  down  here,  girls,"  said  \ 
*'  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  if  you  please." 
"  Oh  !  good,  good,"  exclaimed  every  one,  and 
in  a  moment  they  were  all  planted  upon  the 
green  sward,  in  the  best  listening  mood  pos- 
sible. I  told  them  the  tale  of  "  Aunt  Mercy," 
after  which  we  arranged  to  meet  every  morn- 
ing, and  I  was  to  repeat,  as  well  as  memory 
could  bring  it  back,  a  chapter  of  Warren's 
"  Now  and  Then,"  which  Mr.  Hastings  read 
to  me  last  winter.  Then  each  in  her  turn 
promised  to  do  the  same  from  some  volume 
which  she  had  heard.  Little  Jenny  begged  to 
be  excused,  said  she  never  could  keep  awake 
tlie  readmg  hour,  and  bad  forgotten  all  the 
stories  she  ever  heard.  Caty  complained  tliat 
it  always  took  all  her  time  to  keep  Helen  still 
so  she  had  heard  none  of  the  reading  matter 
either.  Unless  she  could  think  of  something 
Detterj  Mary  proposed  treating  us  to  some  of 


MORNINff  WORE    A  tVAY.  Ihii 

Wilson's  Tales  of  the  Border."  IMaggio 
spoke  of  some  chapters  from  the  "  Diary  of  a 
Physician,"  but,  said  she,  they  all  end  so 
sadly. 

Employment  is  truly  the  chariot- wheel  of 
the  soul ;  without  it  we  only  drag  weary  ex- 
istence along.  The  morning  wore  away,  and 
the  two  months'  vacation  began  to  seem  a  little 
life-time,  and  all  the  days  "  darJc  and  dreary.'''' 

Towa/ds  evening,  to  my  delight  and  as- 
tonishment. Miss  S.  returned.  Get  your  bon- 
net and  shawl,"  said  she.  "  I  could  not  go  to 
Boston,  and  leave  you  here  so  lonely  ;  I  have 
come  to  take  you  to  Brooklyn,  to  stop  a  little  time 
with  some  friends  ;"  and  the  last  two  weeks  I 
passed  at  the  dehghtful  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs, 
Emory,  and  Mr.  Augustus  Graham,  a  very  in- 
teresting old  gentlemen,  if  indeed  it  is  at  all 
proper  to  call  a  man  old,  merely  because  the 
frosts  of  many  winters  have  blanched  his  locks 
and  deepened  the  furrows  on  his  brow,  while  he 
still  retains  the  mental  freshness  of  youth  and 
all  the  acting  excellence  of  half  his  years. 
Mr.  Graham  is  a  native  of  Edinburgh,  edu- 
cated in  liOndon ;  some  fifty  years  since  he  came 


134  A   PLACE   IN  THY  MEMORY. 

to  New- York,  where  by  his  own  industry  and 
economy  he  has  amassed  a  fortune  which  now, 
in  his  decHning  years,  he  is  distributing  foi 
the  rehef  of  the  unfortunate  and  distressed, 
with  a  hand  as  hberal  and  free  as  the  heart  of 
benevolence  and  philanthropy  could  ask. 

On  our  Nation's  last  birth-day,  Mr.  Graham 
presented  to  the  Brooklyn  Institute  and  Hos- 
pital the  pretty  sum  of  fifty  thousand.  Oh, 
who  would  not  wish  the  power  of  dispensing 
good  so  freely  ?  In  a  word,  who  would  not 
like  to  be  rich?  Mr.  Graham's  apartments 
are  caskets  of  choice  books,  paintings,  en^rav 
ings,  iScc.  One  day,  speaking  of  Paris,  he 
placed  in  my  hands  a  little  relic  of  the  Bastile, 
which  he  procured  as  follows  :  Passing  over 
the  grounds,  and  finding  nothing  worth  pre- 
serving, the  guide  took  him  around  by  the  outer 
wall  where  he  spied,  far  up  in  a  niche,  a  figure 
bereft  of  every  limb  that  seemed  breakable,  save 
one  finger,  pointing  in  lone  astonishment  to  the 
shades  of  misery  which  must  ever  haunt  the 
grounds  of  the  Bastile.  Being  a  pretty  good 
Benjamite,  Mr.  G.  threw  a  stone  and  felled 
the  finger  to  the  sjround.    "  Come,"  said  the 


RELIC  FROM   THE   BASTILE.  135 

guide,  we  had  best  be  going  from  this  place, 
or  those  guards  will  be  after  us."  So  Mr.  G. 
pocketed  quickly  his  well-earned  relic,  and 
walked  away.  The  finger  has  on  it  the  in- 
denture of  the  nail  and  the  little  creases  of  the 
first  and  second  joint,  as  perfectly  as  though 
chiselled  but  now. 


Institution  for  the  Blind. 

My  good  friend  Mr.  D.  : — When  I  look 
over  the  past  I  cannot  see  that  either  in  my  let- 
ters or  interviews  I  have  ever  added  to  your 
mind  one  pleasing  thought,  and  yet  you  bear 
with  me. 

The  veneration  I  ever  feel  for  your  worth 
and  character  so  silence  my  Avords  and  restrain 
my  actions,  when  in  your  presence,  that  I  often 
think  that  you  may  with  good  reason  suppose 
me  wanting  in  the  grateful  love  I  should  che- 
rish for  so  valuable  a  friend.  But  believe  me, 
Mr.  D.,  if  your  dear  Augusta  and  Juliet  were 
my  own  sisters,  I  could  not  love  and  esteem 
you.  more. 


136  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MtlMORV. 

My  remaining  sight  you  probably  value  as 
little  as  I  do  ;  but  this  I  do  desire,  to  see  th(^ 
time  when  my  eyes  will  cease  to  trouble  me. 
1  cannot  arrange  sentences  sufficient  for  a  \ 
letter,  listen  to  an  hour's  reading,  or  practise 
the  least,  or  spend  an  evening  in  conversation, 

but  the  morbid  irritation  in  the  nerves  aud  i 

j 

muscles  of  my  eyes  becomes  so  painful  as  to 
keep  me  awake  nearly  the  whole  night.  Three 
years  I  have  submitted  passively  to  the  pre- 
scriptions and  decisions  of  the  faculty,  nevei 
once  lifting  my  voice  approvingly  or  otherwise. 

Last  yummer  the  advice  of  all  the  doctors 
was,  "  Go  to  the  springs  ;  showering  and  bath- 
mg  will  do  more  for  you  than  medicine."  But 
that  was  impossible.  Others  again  urged  me 
to  return  and  try  the  water-cure  in  New- York. 
To  that  various  objections  were  raised ;  indeed 
[  knew  nothing  of  it  myself  until  a  friend  gave 
it  a  very  satisfactory  trial.  She  has  a  minia 
ture  apparatus,  douche  and  shower-bath  in  hei 
own  house,  which  I  used  some  time  last  winter 
with  much  benefit  both  to  my  general  health  and 
eyes.  Now,  you  see  Mr.  D.  what  I  am  at  :  I 
do  very  much  wish  to  pass  one  week  oi 


MY  ORACLE. 


two  intlie  Avater-cure  establishment  somewhere 
ill  New- York.  I  have  a  conviction  tliat  it  will 
both  remedy  my  dyspepsia  and  consequent  ir- 
ritation of  my  eyes.  May  I  make  the  experi- 
ment ? 

My  spirit  sees  no  look  of  disapproval  in 
your  thoughts.  IIowevGr,  you  will  tell  me 
plainly  what  you  think  of  it,  and  your 
words  shall  be  my  oracle  ;  I  will  ask  no  other. 
Pray  pardon  me  for  troubling  you,  and  believe 
that  I  only  desire  to  know  and  do  the  right. 


Slone  Cottage,  June,  1849. 
»»###***« 

An  hour  ago  I  bathed  in  the  crysVal  waters 
that  flow  fast  by  the  cottage  door,  then  with 
Mary  followed  up  their  windhig  way,  treading 
on  the  soft  shadows  of  nightfall,  which  come 
10  sleep  among  the  bushes  and  flowers. 

This  afternoon  we  crossed  the  bridge  up  the 
hill  road  to  the  wood,  anr]  dci^p  in  its  shade 


138  A   I'J.ACE   IiV   THY  MEMORY. 

sat  US  down,  and  opened  the  book  which  Maiy 
had  brought  to  read.  So  every  day,  with  my 
head  pillowed  in  her  lap,  and  her  httle  hand 
on  my  brow,  I  beguile  the  hours  which  other- 
wise were  long  and  weary. 

The  clouds  are  thick  about  mc,  1  cannot  see 
the  face  of  one  Angel,  nor  hear  the  flitting  of  a 
wing,  nor  the  eclio  of  a  harp,  nor  one  whisper 
on  the  breeze.  My  heart  is  hard  and  I  cannot 
w^eep.  I  am  not  good  or  I  were  more  blessed 
and  more  happy,  and  more  like  the  sweet  spi- 
rits, who  with  folded  pinions  linger  unseen 
above  our  pathway,  ever  beckoning  us  on  in 
the  good  and  right  way. 

Oh  that  I  could  dissolve  my  thoughts  and 
mould  them  anew,  free  from  all  evil.  Oh, 
that  in  the  light  of  heaven  I  could  whiten 
my  immortal  nature  from  all  the  stains  which 
sin  has  made.  Tlien  my  soul  would  put  on 
her  wings  and  go  to  breathe  the  expansive 
airs  of  heaven,  and  seize  upon  the  revelations 
of  her  spiritual  being,  and  learn  her  destiny  in 
the  future  life,  whither  to  our  shortsightedness 
the  way  is  unmarked,  and  to  our  weak  faith 
and  little  courage  her  realities  are  solemn  and 


LIVING   FOR    5vD.  139 

fearfiii,  and  when  we  would  enter  there  and 
grow  familiar  with  its  white  sceneSj  something 
oartlily  draws  us  back,  and  whispers,  "  not 
yet,  no,  not  yet."  Oh,  my  soul,  when  wilt 
thou  be  ready?  when  will  thy  work  be  done? 
when  wilt  thou  rise  and  set  thy  hou«e  in  or- 
der, and  see  to  it  that  thy  charities  be  all  num- 
bered, and  thy  goods  be  distributed  to  the  poor, 
and  hasten  tliy  feet  to  the  abodes  of  the  dis- 
tressed, set  thy  hand  to  smooth  the  pillow  of 
the  sick,  ai:d  place  cooling  waters  to  his  fevered 
lips?  Thy  field  of  labor  is  in  this  hfe,  and 
what  thou  wouldst  do  for  God,  thou  must  do 
for  his  creatures 


InUiLution  for  the  Blind.  June  I2i}i,  1848. 

Friend  Mumford: — I  find  here  so  little 
incident,  so  little  that  is  sufficiently  suggestive 
to  awaken  and  call  forth  those  lively  emotions 
which  make  the  soul  of  epistolary  writing,  that 
I  really  approach  it  with  difiidence. 

Besides,  you  must  not  expect  me  to  invest 
my  pages  with  that  coloring  and  vivacity  that 


I  40  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

I  would,  were  I  mingling  more  witli  the  woild. 

Retirement  is  favorable  to  sentiment,  but  i)eat- 
up  feelings  die,  and  unexpressed  and  unshared 
thoughts  do  wither. 

We  are  so  constituted  that  suggestive  so- 
ciety of  some  kind  is  needful,  as  well  for  our 
health  and  happiness  as  our  mental  culture. 
Thinking  is  perhaps  a  more  healthful  exercise 
for  the  mind  than  reading,  for  books  are  but 
the  symbols  of  thought  and  feeling ;  and  as  the 
substance  is  preferred  to  the  shadow,  so  the 
original  is  better  than  the  copy.  The  sources 
of  conversation  and  locality  from  which  we 
can  derive  any  positive  improvement,  cover 
only  a  little  space  in  the  learned  world ;  to  the 
active  mind,  hardly  more  than  the  boundary 
that  girts  the  infant's  cradle. 

The  future  is  unknown.  We  have  not  an 
eye  like  the  Infinite,  to  pierce  its  dark  veil,  and 
read  its  mystic  lore.  To  the  past,  then,  we 
must  go  for  knowledge,  and  books  are  its  only 
chronicles,  the  only  caskets  in  which  its  price- 
less pearls  are  set.  To  me  the  temples  oi 
knowledge  are  all  barred,  and  its  fountains  are 
dried  or  turned  to  rocks,  and  I  have  no  pfiwer 


HOW  TO  PLEASE. 


14a 


to  bring  again  their  gushing  waters.  I  may 
no  more  drink  from  the  streams  of  Pieria,  or 
sip  the  dews  of  Castaha. 

Evermore  mine  is  the  brow  of  night,  wljnso 
stars  are  set.  Flowers  are  at  my  feet,  and 
dews  hke  diamonds  are  scattered  all  around, 
but  the  light  is  gone,  and  I  cannot  see  them. 
Grief  has  long  had  a  place  in  my  heart,  and 
melancholy  and  sorrow  have  been  familiar ; 
but  to-day  something  like  the  shadow  of  des- 
pair is  nestling  there.  Oh  God !  save  me,  save 
me,  oh  God!  There  is  a  wildness  in  my 
thoughts,  a  dread,  d  torturing  fear  that  is  swal- 
lowing up  my  very  life  in  wretchedness,  more 
than  words  can  speak.  How  real  sorrow  doth 
deceive  the  world  !  She  weeps  the  long  night 
away,  and  at  morn  puts  on  a  sunny  brow  to 
meet  those  around  her ;  and  while  they  won- 
der a.t  her  r,heerful  joy,  she  answers  well  and 
wisely  too ,  ills  are  only  severe  blessings,  and 
when  received  with  a  prepared  heart,  they  do 
us  tlie  greater  good."  Besides,  if  we  would 
please  others,  we  must  ourselves  at  least  seem 
to  be  pleased;  and  it  is  well  when,  as  Gold- 
smith says  of  tlie  French,  we  grow  to  be  what 


142  A   PLACE   IN   TIIY  MEMi.  RY. 

we  seem.  Common  pity  mixed  with  common 
scorn  I  do  despise,  my  soul  loathes  the  very 
word;  but  gi^^e  me  your  friendship  growing 
from  esteem,  and  I  will  thank  you  and  love 
you  too ;  and  such  as  my  poor  heart  has  will 
I  give  in  return,  and  perhaps  in  our  little  com- 
merce we  may  both  grow  richer. 

You  remember  deaf  Maggie.  To-day  I 
engaged  to  entertain  her,  but  her  senseless 
gibberings  have  wearied  and  sickened  every 
feeling,  till  my  spirit  cries,  "How  long.  Oh 
Lord  !  how  long  ?"  One  can  play  the  philan- 
thropist to  the  low  and  ignorant,  and  share 
their  little  thoughts,  and  if  possible  try  to  lift 
them  higher,  and  with  ready  delight  minister 
to  their  wants ;  but  to  be  ever  companioned 
with  them,  to  be  herded  one  of  them,  is  hard 
to  bear. 

My  whole  nature  thirsts  for  a  higher  and 
m^re  improving  intercourse,  and  longs  to  feas; 
again  upon  the  beauties  of  kindling  and  in- 
spiring thoughts.  We  are  progressive  beings, 
and  our  every  act,  every  thought  or  emotion, 
should  be  a  step  in  our  progressive  life:  As 
the  least  blow  upon  this  little  earth  in  its  acting 


GREATER   THAN   A  GENIUS 


113 


and  reacting  force  is  felt  through  the  iihmita- 
ble  fields  of  space,  and  that  eternally,  so  man's 
most  simple  word  or  feeling,  in  its  effects  will 
remain  unmeasured,  when  matter's  last  atom 
shall  have  wandered  back  to  that  chaos, 
whence  it  came  forth. 

You  say  you  make  no  claims  to  genius  ;  very 
true ;  but  you  have  what  in  my  opinion  should 
be  prized  far  more,  an  entire  set  of  strong  na- 
tural powers,  developed  by  early  culture,  disci- 
plined by  self-application,  and  inspired  by  the 
love  of  truth.  Such  a  mind  may  begi^i  where 
genius  leaves  off,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  you 
may  not  cope  with  IXewton  in  his  meapure- 
ment  of  the  spheres,  or  follow  the  heaven-led 
operations  of  Milton's  mind  ;  ascend  the  intel- 
lectual throne  of  Bacon,  or  handle  the  more 
weighty  reasonings  of  Locke. 

The  pathway  that  meanders  up  the  steeps 
of  Parnassus  is  laid  open,  and  he  who  kindles 
his  aspirations  with  ambiiion's  fire  may  scale 
its  dizzy  heights,  where,  with  the  key  of  sci- 
ence in  his  hand,  he  may  unlock  the  mysteries 
of  nature  ;  decipher  the  symbols  that  hide  the 
Chald's  sublimer  lore ;  may  read  the  finger- 


144 


A    I'LACE   II\    THY  MEMORY-. 


iTiarks  of  Him  whose  hand  has  spread 
tiiG  starry  cope,  and  strown  with  gems  the 
ocean  cave.  Nature,  in  converse  with  him, 
will  speak  in  her  own  familiar  tongue.  With 
the  finger  of  philosophy  he  may  grasp  the 
"  lightning's  fiery  wing,"  may  rend  asunder  the 
air,  impearl  the  briny  wave,  that  since  time's 
dawn  has  lashed  the  beachen  shore.  The  de- 
composition of  the  granite  rock  of  the  ever- 
lasting hills  shall  be  to  him  but  the  amusement 
of  an  hour.  Yv^ith  La  Place,  he  may  feel  all 
the  tremblings  of  the  waning  moon ;  with 
Plato's  ravished  ears  he  may  list  the  music  of 
the  chanting  spheres,  till  his  spirit  plumes  its 
pinions,  and,  with  flight  sublime,  soars  to 
Truth's  occult  abode.  #  #  # 

P.  S.  I  forgot  •  to  tell  you  that  it  is  vacation, 
and  in  the  absence  of  Miss  M.,  Sibyl  is  playing 
matron  in  the  most  dignified  and  judicious 
manner;  that  is,  the  casks  in  the  store-room 
are  being  freely  relieved  of  their  deposits,  as, 
you  know,  she  believes  in  a  circulating  me- 
dium  tending  to  the  general  good. 


CONFLICTING   EMOTIONS.  145 


Lmg  Island  Water- Cure,  Sept.  l2, 1848. 

My  good  friend  Mr.  D.  : — Yo\ir  note 
came  yesterday,  and  the  parcel  last  evening. 
Mrs.  Nott  has  returned.  She  read  yonr  letter, 
then  gave  me  an  account  of  her  very  pleas- 
ant interview.  It  is  certainly  gratifying  to 
have  persons  so  knowing  and  so  good  as  Mr. 
D.  and  Mrs.  N.,  so  kindly  interested  in  my 
poor  behalf  But  oh,  how  gladly  would  I  re- 
lieve all  my  friends  of  farther  anxiety.  Yes, 
how  gladly  would  I  put  forth  my  hand  to  meet 
my  own  wants.  Sometimes  this  feeling  does 
so  possess  me,  that  I  am  almost  desirous  of 
relieving  the  world  of  one  so  troublesome,  but 
never  more  shall  I  be  sufficient  to  myself  I 
am  in  the  world,  and  cannot  conveniently  get 
out  of  it.  So  I  am  in  the  hands  of  God.  He 
has  placed  me  among  my  fellows,  and  veiled 
my  eyes,  perhaps  as  much  to  try  them  as  me, 
for  certainly,  go  where  I  will,  I  am  always 
tasking  some  hand,  and  sharing  the  generous 
sympathies  of  some  neart 

I  am  certainly  much  more  strong  and 
7 


140  A  PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY 

healthful  than  when  I  came  here.  The  neives 
of  my  eyes  are  still  very  weak  and  irritable, 
though  their  inflamed  appearance  is  rapidly 

leaving  them.    Dr.  asked  me  the  othei 

day  how  I  would  hke  to  pass  the  winter  here ; 
1  replied,  "  I  should  be  most  happy  to  do  so, 
but  that  is  quite  impossible."  He  then  asked 
if  I  could  be  as  contented  here  as  at  the  Insti- 
tution; I  told  him  "  this  was  a  world  of  deligh't 
compared  Avith  it,  setting  aside  all  considera- 
tions of  health."  He  then  remarked,  "  I  think 
we  must  keep  you  here  through  the  winter,  we 
shall  be  less  in  number  then,  and  more  like  a 
family."  Now  what  idea  the  Dr.  had  of  my 
staying  here,  is  more  than  I  can  conceive  ;  it 
does  not  seem  possible  that  he  thinks  of  ex- 
tending his  kindness  so  far,  to  one  whom  he 
knows  so  little.  And  surely  he  has  no  reason 
to  expect  a  compensation,  from  any  source 
which  I  can  imagine;  so,  in  all  probability  I 
shall  leave  here  two  weeks  from  Wednesday. 

1  have  gathered  many  ideas  of  correct  living 
which  I  value  exceedingly  ;  besides,  1  have 
made  very  many  pleasing  acquaintances,  of 
whom  I  will  tell  you  more  by  and  by. 


GRATITUDE. 


147 


If  my  poor  eyes  were  well,  I  would  write  a 
course  of  letters  from  here,  and  the  many 

things  I  could  say  of  Dr.  ^s  establishment, 

might  do  a  little  to  compensate  him  for  the 
great  kindness  he  has  shown  me.  Not  that  1 
could  add  anything  to  the  much  that  has  been 
said,  but  you  know  sometimes  the  simple,  un- 
varnished story  of  a  patient,  tells  more  in  favor 
of  the  doctor  than  all  of  his  long  and  well- 
written  essays  upon  Materia  Medica,  Theory 
and  Practice. 

Indeed  when  I  come  home,  I  shall  do  little 
but  preach  cold  water,  and  plain  diet ;  for  ce^- 
taiiily  Hydropathy  has  not  a  more  thorough 
convert.  All  the  ladies  read  your  letter,  and 
laughed  much  at  tJtat  slip  of  your  j^en. 

Mrs.  Judge  N  ,  of  Ohio,  is  a  patient 

here  ;  she  was  delighted  with  your  remarks  on 
woman,  and  said  they  accorded  precisely  with 
her  husband's  views. 

Then  Mrs.  B  is  /eally  getting  well ! 

Thank  God  for  so  great  a  favor.  We  could 
not  spare  her.  The  world  is  very  dark  and 
lonely  now,  notwithstanding  I  have  so  many 
friends,  so  many  loved  ones.     I  liav^e  thia 


/48  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORT- 

moniing  unfortunately  glanced  a  little  beyona 
the  coming  two  weeks,  and  consequently  a 
shade  of  sadness  covers  my  thoughts ;  but  no 
matter,  all  will  be  well. 

Kind  regards  to  your  dear  family.  Mr. 
Briggs  is  probably  again  with  you :  you  are 
indeed  among  the  favored.  I  think  of  your 
Sabbaths  all  day.    Do  not  forget,!  am  to  heai 

Mr.  's  Thanksgiving  sermon,  and  the 

first  after  his  return  from  Europe. 

Now,  good-by,  Mr.  D  ,  with  as  much 

gratitude  and  love  as  my  simple  heart  can 
nold. 

P.  S.  I  do  not  much  regret  the  delay  of  my 
note,  since  it  came  to  you  so  illustriously  com 
panioned.  How  the  simple  thing  must  have 
blushed  being  read,  while  your  thoughts  were 
full  of  words  from  the  burning  pen  of  the  Sage 
of  A-shland. 


THE   AMBITIOUS  YOUTH. 


149 


Stone  Cottage,  August,  1849. 

Cousin  Will  : — Y'our  last  poem  pleases 
fne  exceedingly.  I  see  you  have  truly  the 
soul  of  a  poet,  and  1  very  well  understand 
your  desire  to  travel,  and  apparent  dissatisfac 
tion  with  the  tame  way  in  which  you  are 
passing  your  time.  No  one  more  than  I  would 
like  you  to  see  the  wind-god  shake  old  ocean 
by  his  mane,  and  feast  your  eye  on  the  Alps 
and  Apennines,  and  watch  their  lakes  when 
"red  morn  glows  on  their  breasts."  But, 
Cousin  Will,  a  poet  too  well  fed,  or  too  much 
indulged,  is  apt  to  lose  his  muse.  It  is  hard 
blows  you  need  instead  of  gentle  ones.  You 
9  re  an  only  child,  the  pride  of  doting  parents, 
and  your  home  is  lined  with  books  and  papers, 
and  jrou  have  tutors  and  masters  always  at 
nand.  Hence  if  I  sympathize  at  all  with  you, 
it  will  be  because  you  are  too  much  favored  ; 
for  if  we  lift  the  curtain  of  the  past,  and  back- 
waid  wander,  however  far,  we  find  written  in 
legible  characters  upon  every  page  of  man's 
history — no  excellence   is  obtained  without 


150  A  PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

labor.  Poverty,  Cousin  Will,  is  the  nuisory 
of  genius,  and  toil  he  must  who  would  excel 
in  any  course,  or  have  it  said  of  him,  he  v/as 
great  or  good.  Young  men  of  alliuence^ 
having  little  else  to  do  than  feast  upon  the 
bounties  which  Providence  has  assigned 
them,  and  bask  in  the  dawn  of  new  enjoy- 
ments, are  but  seldom  disposed  to  contend  for 
meeds  of  honor,  obtained  only  at  the  expense 
of  unwearied  application  and  self-denial. 

But  they  often  enter  the  literary  course,  and 
for  a  time  may  walk  in  advance  of  those  less 
favored  than  themselves,  until  by  self-indulg- 
ence and  irresolution,  they  become  effeminate  ; 
fluctuate,  and,  to  their  mortification,  yield  tlie 
palm  to  their  poor  but  persevering  competi 
tors ;  who  gradually  advance  step  by  step, 
treading  down  every  obstruction,  and  boldly 
surmounting  every  barrier ;  nor  tarrying  in  all 
the  mountain  way  until  they  reach  the  goal, 
and  grasp  the  object  of  their  anxious  but 
deferred  hopes. 

The  orb  of  science  never  shone  so  brightly 
on  Egypt's  monuments  of  art  and  grandeui,  as 
wlien  her  poor  youth,  whose  eyes  beamed  with 


TRUE   MERIT.  151 

native  intelligence,  were  sought  after,  and 
welcomed  to  her  classic  halls  and  bowers. 
A.nd  the  Grecian  stage  was  favored  with  its 
richest  productions,  while  those  prests  of 
nature  who  dwelt  in  the  upland  caves,  came 
down  bare-headed  and  bare-footed,  to  be  the 
worthy  competitors  of  kings. 

In  Rome,  the  seven-hilled  city  of  Fame, 
whose  halls  are  stored  with  the  treasures  of 
intellect,  we  find  the  richest  gems  of  which 
the  world  can  boast.  But  the  fathers  of  her 
philosophy  and  poetry  had  no  other  claims  to 
distinction  or  honor,  than  those  of  true  merit. 
And  could  we  map  to  our  view  the  panorama 
of  six  thousand  years,  we  would,  in  every  age 
and  in  every  land,  find  those  to  whom  science 
owes  her  improvements,  those  who  have  wor- 
shipped at  the  shrine  of  art,  those  whose 
hands  have  guided  safely  the  helm  in  the 
hour  of  a  nation's  peril,  were  not  only  de- 
prived of  the  luxuries  of  life,  but  were  often 
strangers  to  its  most  common  comforts.  And 
while  toiling  in  their  onward  and  upward 
way,  the  aristocracy  of  wealth  frowned  upon 
them;  and  while  thev  battled  bravely  life's 


io2 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


pitiless  Storms,  persecuting  slander  often 
Imrled  her  envenomed  arrows  at  their  vencr 
able  and  defenceless  heads ;  and  but  for  diat 
imyielding  and  obstinate  determination  which 
never  fails,  they  had,  with  the  multitude, 
passed  unknown  away. 

We  see  the  high-mmded  philosopher,  Galileo, 
soliciting  the  loan  of  a  few  shillings  to  pur- 
chase materials  for  constructing  an  instrument 
with  -  which  he  afterwards  shook  the  great 
foundations  of  error.  Tycho  Brahe  said,  if  he 
owed  the  world  any  thing,  it  was  for  its  untiring 
opposition.  The  learned  Kepler  said  his  life 
had  been  only  a  scene  of  wants  and  priva- 
tions. Rollin,  a  star  of  moral  beauty,  ran 
when  a  boy  with  the  herd  of  other  ragged  lads 
to  say  mass  ;  but  that  ethereal  spirit,  which 
beamed  from  his  eagle  eye  and  expansive 
brow,  snatched  him  a  gem  from  the  mud,  a  ad 
bade  him  shine  for  ever  in  the  splendors  ol 
his  own  genius. 

Columbus,  whose  soul  when  unfurled  leap- 
ed across  the  sea  and  laid  bare  a  world,^' 
you  know,  lived  and  died  stung  to  his  heart's 
core  with  want  and  neglect.     The  richest 


I  WILL  TRY. 


153 


minds  England  has  produced  were  pearls 
brought  up  from  the  darkest  obi^curity.  Kirke 
White,  the  genius  of  musings;  Sha^speare^ 
tc  whom  nature  gave  her  magic  wand; 
Cnatterton,  Sir  Humphrey  Davy,  and  his 
student  the  bookbinder,  in  a  coarse  frock, 
now  no  less  than  Chemist  Royal. 

Napoleon,  when  he  saw  his  ranks  becoming 
thin,  grasped  the  standard  in  his  own  hand, 
rushed  forward,  leaping  over  bodies  of  the 
slain  like  a  spirit  of  the  storm  till  the  victory 
was  his.  Thus  have  arisen  to  excellence  mul- 
titudes with  whom  the  Fates  loved  to  war. 
So  there  are  moments  in  the  lives  of  all  when 
a  word,  a  resolve,  or  a  single  step  seems  to  be 
a  pivot  upon  which  their  whole  destiny  turns 
either  for  weal  or  woe  ;  and  that  moment  with 
you.  Cousin  Will,  is  now.  During  the  late 
war  a  British  battery,  stationed  upon  a  hill, 
considerably  annoyed  our  troops  ;  "  Can  you 
'storm  that  battery?"  said  General  Ripley  to 
Colonel  Miller.  "  I  will  try.  Sir,"  was  the 
laconic  answer.  Now,  only  rise  and  arm  your 
most  lofty  aspirations  with  Colonel  Miller's 
weapon,  and  victory  is  yours.    The  world  is 


154 


A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 


the  great  drama  upon  which  each  individual 
IS  to  act  his  part  with  honor  or  infamy,  as  he 
will  himself  choose  ;  but  there  is  a  fame  which 
will  last  when  the  skies  of  worldly  glory  ar** 
darkened,  and  her  scrolls  have  gone  to  decay; 
upon  her  pure  escutcheon  are  written  the 
"  names  of  those  whom  the  love  of  God  has 
blest whose  hands  have  helped  to  plant  the 
great  standard  of  reform  and  the  amelioration 
of  mankind ;  who  have  added  their  vial  to  the 
river  whose  waters  flow  for  the  healing  of  the 
nations.  Continue  in  the  paths  of  virtue,  daily 
adding  to  your  stores  of  knowledge  from  those 
valuable  receptacles  of  the  wisdom  of  all 
ages — books.  Seek  to  shine  like  some  of  the 
iewels  which  decorate  the  temple  of  our  free- 
dom, and  leave  your  name  with  those  to 
wnose  memory  rock-hewn  monuments  are  but 
mockery.  Try  to  be  great  in  the  spirit  of 
God,  like  John  Wesley,  John  Newton,  and  oui 
Edwards,  the  vein  of  whose  eloquence  flowed 
only  to  fertilize  the  desolation  of  the  human 
heart. 

The  most  powerful  imagination,  's  that 
which  embodies  truth  in  living  characters  ;  and 


THE  BIRTH-DAY. 


155 


the  most  imperishable  fame  is  the  memory  oi 
him  who  made  the  world  better  by  living  in  it. 


Union  College,  Schenectady,  June  ^SiJi,  1849. 

My  good  friend  Mr.  D.  : — You  are  su^h 
a  devotee  to  science  and  literature,  or,  in  other 
words,  such  a  devourer  of  books,  and  every  thing 
in  the  way  of  intelligence,  it  seems  fitting 
I  should  write  to  you  while  at  one  of  the 
finest  seats  of  learning  in  our  State,  and  at  the 
feet  of  one  greater  than  Gamaliel. 

Dr.  Nott,  you  are  aware,  has  been  forty-five 
years  President  of  this  Institution.  He  passed, 
yesterday,  his  seventy-sixth  birth-day,  appa- 
rently in  possession  of  as  many  physical  and 
mental  energies  as  a.re  ordinarily  the  compa- 
nions of  men  of  half  his  years — hearing  his 
classes,  attending  to  all  the  calls  of  his  stu- 
dents^ listening  to  and  correcting  their  rheto- 
rical exercises,  preparatory  to  the  coming  com- 
mencement. 

In  the  morning,  while  the  Doctor  was  read- 


J  56  A   PLACE   IN   TUY  MLMORV. 

mg  the  papers,  a  committee  of  the  senior  class 
waited  upon  him,  requesting  permission  to 
have  a  general  college  celebration  of  his  biith- 
day.  At  this  the  good  sage  seemed  much  sur- 
prised, and  asked,  "  How  in  the  world  did  you 
learn  that  ?  Really,  I  did  not  know  it  myself  ; 
out  if  it  be  so,  boys,  that  I  am  another  yeai 
older,  and  you  wish  to  celebrate  it,  you  must 
do  it  in  the  way  I  am  going  to — work  with  all 
your  might."  "  But,"  said  they,  "  we  would 
like  to  illuminate  the  college."  "  Illuminate  the 
college !"  said  he,  "  why  what  an  idea  !  such  a 
thing  was  never  done."  "  Why  yes,"  said  the 
students,  "  the  first  year  you  c^me  here  it  was 
illuminated."  "  Not  hardly,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  for  if  I  remember  rightly,  we  had  no  col- 
lege to  illuminate."  ^'  But,"  said  they,  "  they 
hung  the  lamps  in  the  trees,  which  meant  the 
same  thing."  So  the  dialogue  went  on,  and 
at  last  terminated  by  the  Doctor's  consenting  to 
let  the  senior  class  come  to  his  house  in  the 
evening,  for  an  informal  levee,  specifying  that 
they  should  all  go  home  precisely  at  ten  o'clock* 
The  older  I  grow,  the  more  I  see  how  averse 
riie  learned  and  sensible  always  are  to  any 


THE  LEVEE. 


151 


thing  like  siiow  or  ostentation.  During  tht 
day  many  old  and  tried  friends  called  upon 
the  Doctor  and  his  lady,  and  offered  their  con- 
gratulations that  another  year  had  been  added 
to  his  long  and  useful  life ;  hoping  that  he 
would  be  spared  to  them  many  more.  Many 
presents  were  sent  in,  among  them  a  beautifu, 
bouquet  to  Mrs.  Nott,  and  to  the  Doctor  a  large 
ripe  orange  of  domestic  growth,  with  stem  and 

leaves  still  attached.    Mc  ,  who  you  know 

is  figuring  so  largely  as  a  statesman,  sent  by 
express  an  engraving  of  himself,  large  as  life, 
and  elegantly  framed,  accompanied  by  a  note. 
While  Mrs.  Nott  and  Professor  Potter  were 
selecting  the  most  appropriate  place  for  hanging 
it,  the  Doctor  says,  "  I  have  it,  hang  him  in 
the  college  libra  ry,  where  he  should  have  been 
himself  long  ago.    But  a  fine  fellow  that  Mc 

 ,  and  he  knows  a  pretty  good  deal  too, 

notwithstanding." 

The  professors  and  their  ladies,  the  tutors 
and  other  oliicers  of  the  college,  were  present 
at  the  party,  and  altogether  the  evening  passed 
both  profitably  and  pleasantly.  The  Doctor 
fv^as  in  fine  spirits   entertaining  the  "groups 


158  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

who  thronged  about  him.  with  vivid  delinea- 
tions of  the  master-spirits  of  tne  last  genera- 
tion, with  most  of  whom  he  was  intimate. 
Some  one  asked  him  whether  he  thought 
Hamilton  or  Webster  the  greater  man  ?  He 
replied,  Hamilton,  for  Webster  has  lived  to  do 
much  since  Hamilton  died ;  and  besides,  the 
greatest  efforts  of  Hamilton  have  never  been 
published. 

Through  his  long  life,  the  Doctor  has  been 
a  devoted  student  of  eloquence  ;  this  is  as  evi- 
dent in  his  common  conversation,  as  from  his 
sermons  and  writings.  His  words  are  not  so 
select,  as  his  manner  is  impressive ;  conse- 
quently you  caimot  hear  him  speak,  without 
being  more  or  less  influenced.  The  best  fea- 
ture in  the  evening's  entertainment  was  the 
good  Doctor's  address  to  the  whole  assembly. 
He  dwelt  with  great  emphasis  upon  the  fact, 
thai  men  do  not  live  out  half  their  days,  in 
consequence  of  infractions  upon  the  physical 
laws  of  their  being.  He  said  one-fifth  of  the 
human  race  die  before  they  are  twelve  months 
old,  one-third  before  they  are  two  years,  and 
one-half  before  they  are  twenty.    Now  nothing 


THYSICAL  LAWS.  15J^ 

analogous  to  this  is  found  among  other  ani- 
mals ;  ail  other  species  live,  with  but  fevv 
exceptions,  to  a  certain  and  uniform  agb 
Whence,  then,  this  fearful  mortality  among 
men?  If  you  give  as  a  reason  the  fall  of 
Adam,  to  this  I  reply,  that  even  after  the  fall 
of  Adam  men  lived  to  near  a  thousand  years. 
The  truth  is,  young  gentlemen,  that  man,  the 
only  animal  endowed  with  reason  and  the 
higher  attributes,  is  almost  the  only  animal 
that  outrages  the  plain  and  obvious  laws  of 
his  nature.  The  Doctor  then,  by  way  of  illus- 
tration, remarked  upon  his  own  plain  mode  of 
living,  his  constant  use  of  cold  baths,  and  his 
abstaining  from  all  stimulants,  both  in  food 
and  drink.  Life,  said  he,  is  the  most  precious 
of  Heaven's  gifts,  and  I  have  no  doubt  all  be- 
fore me  would  like  to  extend  it  to  the  greatest 
numbei  of  years  possible.  In  the  early  pan 
of  the  evening,  one  of  the  students,  Mr.  Mc- 
Coy, (a  young  man  of  decided  talent,)  read 
aloud  some  very  appropriate  passages  from  ,  the 
Dard  of  Avon,  one  from  Henry  IV.,  another 
from  the  speech  of  Adam  in  "  As  you  like  it 
which  seemed  written  almcist  expressly  for  the 


160  A   PLACK   IN   TIIY  MEMORY. 

occasion  and  the  venerable  person  for  whom 
it  was  selected : 

"  Though  I  look  old,  yet  I  am  strong  and  lusty: 
For  in  my  youth  I  never  did  apply 
Hot  and  rebellious  liquors  in  my  blood. 
Nor  did  not  with  unbashful  forehead  woo 
The  means  of  weakness  pnd  debility  ; 
Therefore  my  age  is  as  a  lusty  winter, 
Frosty,  but  kindly." 

Just  before  the  company  dispersed,  the  ven- 
erable Doctor  referred  in  a  touching  manner  to 
the  separation  that  would  soon  take  place  be- 
tween the  teachers  and  tlie  class  before  him, 
and  besought  them  to  live  in  constant  refer- 
ence to  the  judgment-day,  to  prepare  for  which 
all  others  are  given.  "  I  charge  you,"  said  he, 
"let  not  one  before  me,  on  that  tremendous  day, 
be  absent  from  the  right  hand  of  God ;  that 
sliould  it  be  my  happiness  to  be  found  there 
also,  I  may  be  permitted  to  exclaini,  ^  Here, 
Lord^  am  /,  and  the  children  Thou  hast  com- 
mitted to  m^y  care.^ "  And  then  in  behalf  of 
all  present,  offered  a  most  affecting  and  solemn 
prayer  to  the  Father  of  all  our  mercies.  His 
i-eference  to  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in' 


A   MOMENT   FOR  ALL. 


»61 


darkness,  and  the  destruction  that  wasteth  af 
noonday,  was  very  affecting.  In  comphance 
with  his  petition,  one  could  ahiiost  see  the  de- 
stroying angel  returning  his  raging  sword  to 
the  scabbard,  and  pronouncing  it  enough. 

This  morning  we  had  a  delightful  drive  in 
the  Doctor's  three- wheeled  buggy  which  is  a 
singular  sort  of  vehicle,  but  exceedingly  con- 
venient for  getting  in  and  out,  besides  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  upset  it. 

I  enjoy  Mrs.  Nott's  society  here  even  more 
than  at  Long  Island,  she  is  so  amiable  and 
lovely.  Though  there  is  seemingly  no  end  to 
her  duties  and  calls,  yet  she  always  finds  a 
little  time  tor  every  one.  The  most  important 
star  in  all  the  sky  shines  with  a  mild  but 
steady  ray ;  such  is  ever  the  influence  and 
power  of  woman ;  noiseless,  but  constant,  she 
rarely  competes  with  man  in  the  varied  depart- 
ments of  science  and  literature,  yet,  by  her 
silent  labors  and  gentle  teachings,  she  often 
rules  the  fate  of  empires  and  decides  the 
destinies  of  kings. 

Th'i  evening  I  left  you  at  your  residence,  I 
had  no  idea  that  m  forty-eight  hours  I  should 


1(52 


A     LACE   IN   THY  MEMOtlY. 


become  so  much  of  an  alarmist  as  to  lea/e. 
New- York  so  hurriedly.   But  when  people  are  | 
so  congregated  and  necessarily  so  many  in  | 
one  room,  as  at  the  Institution,  tie  liability  to  ! 
contagion  is  greatly  increased.    I  believe  you 
purpose  remaining   in  the  city  during  the 
entire  season.     May  God  protect  you,  and, 
among  his  richest  blessings,  prolong  your 
invaluable  life.    I  am  going  to  a  remote  part 
of  the  country,  where   the   mountains   lift  ' 
their  heads  and  stretch  out  their  arms  to  pro- 
tect ;  and  the  river  that  flows  at  their  feet  has 
never  borne  on  its  wave  the  breath  of  disease  : 

still  insidious  cholera  may  come  even  there 
********* 


Le  Roy  Female  Seminary,  July  13th,  1849. 

Dear  Mary  : — Nearly  2500  years  ago  the 
.  Persian  armies,  commanded  by  Xerxes,  enter- 
ed ancient  Athens,  and  in  an  evil  hour  behold 
that  great  city  wrapped  in  flames ;  its  walls 
broken,  and  its  white  marble  edifices  and 


ATHENIAN   CASE.  163 

templeSj  dedicated  to  the  gods,  enveloped  in 
smoke  and  marked  for  ruin.  Where  so  late 
art  and  science,  life  and  beauty  reigned, 
destruction,  fire,  darkness  and  decay  made 
their  homes.  Now  the  meanest  reptiles  crawl 
in  the  halls  of  kings,  and  solitary  toads  go 
noiselessly  over  the  banquet  floors — and  the 
dark  bat  sleeps  where  the  birds  of  Jove  plumed 
their  glittering  wings — and  the  moss  and  ivy 
grow  and  feed  upon  the  dust  of  princes — and 
the  owl,  sacred  bird  of  the  Athenians,  for  ever 
booms  above  its  ruins. 

Seven  years  since  Miss  Wright,  from  this 
seminary,  went  to  Smyrna  to  teach  the  Pro- 
testant children  of  the  Mediterranean.  After 
a  term  of  four  years,  she  left  Smyrna  and 
came  to  Athens,  where  she  remained  two 
years,  and  gathered  meantime  this  choice 
collection  of  relics.  They  are  placed  on 
shelves  in  a  sort  of  closet  with  glass  doors  ;  it 
says  over  the  top,  "  Athenian  Case for  there 
are  several  other  similar  cases  in  the  room, 
one  of  minerals,  another  of  shells,  ifcc.  Yes- 
t3rday  Miss  Wright  took  them  all  down,  and 
placed  them  one  afte   another  in  my  hands 


J  64  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

and  descrioed  them  so  perfectly,  that  it 
seems  to  me  1  have  really  seen  them.  And 
Mary,  to-day  I  will  in  fancy  do  the  same  for 
you.  First,  here  is  a  little  clay  lamp,  which 
was  dug  from  the  ruins  ;  you  see  it  is  shaped 
like  the  half  of  ^  goose-egg,  and  about  as 
large.  It  has  a  little  tube  on  the  top  of  one 
side  for  the  wick,  and  some  little  hoies  in  the 
middle,  where  the  oil  was  poured  in  ;  and  they 
answered  also  for  a  vent.  It  is  a  rude  thing, 
but  we  cannot  know  what  great  purposes  it 
has  answered  in  the  world.  Perhaps  by  its 
light  Aristophanes  wove  his  brilliant  comedies. 
Or  it  may  have  belonged  to  Plato,  and  sat 
upon  his  little  classic  table,  while  he  wrote  his 
dialogues  and  twelve  letters ;  the  elegance, 
melody,  and  sweetness  of  which,  you  knov/,  so 
pleased  the  people,  that  they  entitled  him  the 
Athenian  bee.  Let  us  see  ;  Socrates'  father 
was  a  statuar^r,  and  for  several  years  the 
great  philosopher  followed  the  same  employ- 
aient.  Here  is  one  of  the  Athenian  gods,  and 
perhaps  it  was  chiselled  by  his  own  hand,  and 
one  of  tho.se  which  he  was  afterwards  accused 
of  ridiculing  ;  which  to  us  would  seem  a  very 


SOCRATES.  165 


slight  ofFeiice,  but  tlien  nothing  could- atone  foi 
it  but  death.  In  the  oJd  vvoild,  as  in  the  new^ 
innocence  was  never  safe ;  since  time  began 
she  has  been  exposed  to  the  tongue  of  slander. 
Socrates  was  adorned  by  every  virtue  and 
stained  by  no  vice,  and  his  high-soijled  inde- 
pendence and  freedom  of  speech  upon  all 
subjects,  for  many  years  placed  him  beyond 
suspicion  and  malevolence.  But  after  the 
witty  and  unprincipled  Aristophanes  had 
once  ventured  to  ridicule  the  venerable  char- 
acter of  Socrates  in  one  of  his  comedies  upon 
the  stage,  the  way  was  opened,  and  praise 
soon  gave  place  to  criticism  and  censure. 
Envy  hurled  at  him  her  poisoned  arrows,  and 
jealousy,  in  the  voices  of  Miletus,  Aritus  and 
Lycon,  stood  forth  to  recriminate  him ;  and 
good  Socrates  was  summoned  before  the 
tribunal  of  five  hundred,  accused  of  corrupt- 
ing the  Athenian  youth,  and  ridiculing  the 
man)  gods  which  the  Athenians  worshipped. 

Here,  Mary,  is  a  little  earthen  bowl,  which 
does  not  seem  to  differ  much  from  the  pottery 
of  our  day,  though  it  has  lain  under  ground 
more  than  two  thousand  years.    If  not  the 

L_  -  


106  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY 

same,  it  was  probably  one  like  it,  from  which 
Socrates  drank  the  poison  handed  him,  yoii 
remember,  by  the  executioner,  with  tears  in 
his  eyes :  then  the  great  moralist  exclaimed, 
there  is  but  one  God,  and  drew  off  the  lata] 
draught.  This,  too,  is  a  singular  little  thing; 
likewise  a  piece  of  pottery  shaped  like  a  can- 
dlestick, with  a  bilge  in  the  middle,  and  a 
hole  in  the  top.  The  Greeks  called  it  lach- 
rymatory, which  signifies  a  vessel  for  tears. 
What  idea  those  people  had  of  bottling  tears, 
wo  know  not,  but  it  reminds  me  of  the  beau- 
tiful passage  of  David,  "Thou  tellest  my 
wanderings ;  put  Thou  my  tears  into  Thy 
bottle ;  are  they  not  in  Thy  book  These 
little  tear-bottles  are  found  in  the  sarcophagi, 
or  the  stone  coffins,  dug  so  frequently  from  the 
ruins  of  ancient  Athens ;  placed  there  by  the 
friends  of  the  deceased,  and  probably  con- 
tained the  tears  of  the  mourners,  or  those 
whose  profession  it  is  in  oriental  countries  to 
weep  for  the  dead. 

Miss  Wright  was  present  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  and  such  control  over  the  lachry- 
mal glands  she  never  before  saw  :  from  per- 


THE  PARTHENON. 


161 


feet  indilfereiue,  they  were  the  next  moiiieiit 
seemingly  lost  in  the  deepest  grief:  thei2 
cheeks  bathed  in  what  we  call  crocodile  tears. 

Here  is  one  of  the  little  sylvan  gods  of  the 
ancient  Grec^ks,  of  pottery  mould.  It  was 
]r«-obably  a  votive  offering  to  Pan  and  Apollo, 
suspended  perhaps  in  their  caves,  which  are 
now  to  be  seen  in  the  side  of  the  Athenian 
Acropolis,  which  literally  means  the  highest 
point  of  the  city.  Here  is  another  more  an- 
cient still.  It  must  have  been  used  in  the 
days  of  Cadmus,  from  its  resemblance  to  the 
Egyptian  mummies.  It  is  a  fantastic  little 
thing,  marked  with  hieroglyphics,  with  arms 
folded  across  its  breast,  and  robed  like  a 
mummy. 

Now  open  your  hands  wide,  Mary,  do  not 
let  it  drop ;  this  is  the  head  of  a  great  lion, 
taken  from  the  eaves  of  the  Parthenon,  the 
mo3t  beautiful  temple  ever  dedicated  to  the 
goddess  Minerva  ;  and  it  is  still  the  model  of 
aichitects  all  over  the  world.  Put  your 
hand  in  his  mouth,  he-e,  ^rou  see  it  is  wide 
open  where  the  water  spouted  out.  It  was 
chiselled  from  a  block  of  Pentelican  marble, 


168  A    PLACE   IN   TIJY  MEMORY 

which  ill  the  quarry  they  say  is  pure  whito 
and  glistens  in  tlie  sun  hke  rock  sugar. 

Now  I  will  give  you  a  httie  marble  book. 
It  came  from  Mars  Hill,  where  Paul  stood  and 
declared  to  the  Athenians  the  unknown  God, 
and  defended  himself  before  the  Court  Areo- 
pagus, and  answered  in  the  presence  of  the 
Athenian  judges,  for  his  bold  innovation  upon 
their  religious  faith.  Four  hundred  years  be- 
fore Christ,  Socrates  was  tried  and  condemned 
upon  the  same  spot  and  for  the  same  cause. 
And  a  few  years  since.  Dr.  King,  our  mis- 
sionary in  Greece,  was  tried  for  a  like  ofience, 
which,  you  see,  makes  him  the  third  in  an 
illustrious  line  of  criminals.  When  Dr.  King 
went  to  Athens,  he  built  his  house  upon  a 
pile  of  the  old  ruins,  from  which  he  dug  this 
water-jar.  It  is  an  ancient  thing,  but  at  ♦he 
present  time  Greek  maidens  use  them,  only 
larger,  for  carrying  water  from  the  fountains. 
They  have  double  handles,  and  when  they  are 
filled  they  hold  them  in  their  hands,  one  on 
each  shoulder,  which  to  us  would  be  a  weari- 
some task  ;  but  their  supple  joints  do  not  mind 
it,  and  if  we  too  had  some  such  exercise^  our 


CJIIBOUC   AND   NIGAELE  lG& 

forms  would  perhaps  be  more  e^-ect,  and  our 
chests  more  expansive. 

This  Httle  stone  is  a  bit  of  liiosaic,  taken 
from  the  floor  of  the  old  temple  dedicated  to 
Ceies,  at  Eleusis,  twelve  miles  from  Athens. 
Anciently  this  temple  was  visited  by  the 
Athenians  annually,  in  great  processions,  to 
pay  their  adoration  to  the  goddess  Ceres ;  the 
road  to  it  was  called  the  "  sacred  way." 

Now,  Mary,  we  come  to  a  shelf  full  of 
Turkish  things,  from  Smyrna,  Asia  Minor. 
Some  large  dolls,  representing  the  Turks  and 
Armenians  in  their  different  costumes ;  the 
chibouc  or  long  pipe;  and  the  nigaele,  which  is 
a  glass  vase  beautifully  painted.  AVhen  used 
it  is  filled  with  water ;  and  it  has  a  little  fire- 
place in  the  top,  where  the  tobacco  is  burned, 
and  from  which  the  smoke  comes  down  into 
the  water,  keeping  it  constantly  bubbling,  and 
then  passes  off  through  a  long  elastic  tube,  the 
end  of  which  the  smoker  has  in  his  moath, 
and  may  sit  across  the  room  if  he  litie.  This 
and  coffee-sipping,  you  know,  are  the  Turks' 
greatest  luxuries.  By  the  way,  here  az«  some 
of  their  cups  and  saucers,  not  saucers,  but 
8 


J 70  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

zarfs,  liale  metal  stands  for  the  cups,  gold  or 
kdver,  as  they  can  afford.  This  cup  hold5 
about  as  much  as  an  American  would  drink 
at  one  swallow,  but  a  Turk  would  be  an  hour 
sipping  it  and  blowing  it  into  the  smoke  of  his 
pipe.  Not  long  since,  a  traveller  from  our 
country  called  at  the  house  of  a  Pacha  in 
Smyrna ;  when  helped  to  this  mark  of  hospi- 
tality, instead  of  holding  it  gracefully  between 
his  thumb  and  finger,  and  sipping  it  gently,  he 
seized  it  with  his  whole  hand,  and  drank  it  off 
at  once,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  good 
Pacha,  who  of  course  thought  his  guest  greatly 
wanting  in  etiquette,  and  asked  his  attendants, 
•'Who  is  this  barbarian?"  "Let  us  do  what 
we  are  going  to  do  quickly,  and  be  off,"  is 
every  where  the  characteristic  motto  of  the 
American. 

Dear  Mary,  you  will  be  weary  if  I  take  time 
to  tell  you  of  all  these  curiosities,  and  their 
many  associations.  But  these  little  Turkish 
amulets  are  so  very  curious.  They  are  made 
of  glass,  like  small  bells,  and  are  worn  upon 
ihe  donkeys  and  camels,  to  keep  off  the  "  evil 
eye,"  as  they  say,  or  the  influence  of  jealousy 


PHYLACTERIES. 


171 


and  envy.  The  children  wear  them  also,  foi 
the  sari3  purpose.  A  little  daughter  of  one 
of  our  missionaries,  who,  of  course,  wore 
no  such  badge  of  oriental  superstition,  was 
visited  by  some  of  the  natives  ;  who,  after 
lavishing  upon  the  fair  one  their  extravagant 
praises  of  her  beauty,  spit  in  her  face,  to  pre- 
vent her  being  flattered,  which  was  doubtless 
a  very  effectual  preventive  to  her  vanity. 

Matthew  says  of  the  Pharisees,  "  they  do  all 
cheir  works  to  be  seen  of  men,  and  make 
broad  their  ph3''lacteries."  Well,  here  is  a 
phylactery  too,  and  a  great  many  other  Roman 
relics,  among  which  is  a  box  of  choice  needle- 
work of  gold  and  silver  embroidery,  which  we 
could  approcir.te  better  if  we  could  see.  Be- 
side, Mary,  wo  would  like  to  take  a  peep  into 
this  ca^e  of  minerals,  which  extends  across  the 
entire  room.  Like  every  thing  else,  this  cabi- 
net had  its  beginning.  Twelve  years  ago  a 
gentleman  prtsented  the  Preceptress  a  few 
stones  picked  from  a  quarry  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, which  have  been  gradually  accumulat- 
ing, until  now  this  room  is  a  casket  of  curiosi 
ties.    About  that  time,  the  school  was  founded 


J  72  A   PLACE   IN  THY  MEMORV. 

by  Miss  Marietta  and  Miss  Emily  Tiij^ham 
from  Massachusetts — and  ever  since  they 
have  been  gradually  enlarghig  and  improving 
their  building  and  increasing  i*s  advantages, 
until  at  present  there  are  few  schools  in  th( 
United  States  which  afford  greater  facilities 
for  the  education  of  young  ladies.  Its  libraries 
are  large  and  select,  and  the  conservatory  is 
of  itself  a  little  world  of  beauty  and  thought. 
Professor  Stanton,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
school,  is  a  well-known  Artist.  His  gallery 
and  studio  are  hung  with  choice  paintings, 
both  by  the  old  Masters,  and  the  work  of  his 
own  hand.  A  teacher  of  painting  here,  is  a 
lady  who  has  been  always  deaf  They  say 
when  she  is  kneeling  at  the  easel,  her  whole 
soul  seems  inspired  with  the  beauty  of  her 
art,  and  the  forms  she  leaves  upon  canvas 
appear  to  kindle  at  the  glances  of  her  eye. 

Mary,  I  do  sometimes  really  doubt  whether 
or  not,  when  jjroperly  considered,  it  is  a  mis- 
fortune to  be  blind.  Is  not  our  whole  nature 
improved,  and  our  immortal  being  elevated 
through  this  privation  ?  Our  sense  of  feeling 
becomes  so  delicate,  and  such  a  source  of 


r 


1 


M73FORTUNE    t    JMPENSAlED.  173 

Instruction  and  new  pleasure.  Only  think  of 
Miss  Cynthia,  she  can  feel  distinctly  the  hnes 
and  spaces  of  ordinary  printed  music.  And 
our  hearing  is  so  quickened,  and  our  imagiua- 
tion  so  fleet,  and  memory  too,  what  new  power 
siic  possesses,  and  how  tenaciously  she  clings 
to  every  thing,  often  astonishing  even  to  our- 
selves. And  beside,  we  know  that  our  feel- 
ings are  more  sensitive,  and  our  attachments 
stronger  and  more  lasting  ;  and  there  are  few 
fields  of  intellectual  research  in  which  we 
may  not  enter  and  compete  successfully  with 
tliose  who  see.  ♦  #         ♦  « 

»      «       #       #  # 


Rochester,  April  11,1848. 

My  good  friend  Mr.  D.  ; — Your  long 
looked  for,  and  thankfully  received  letter 
tias  till  now  remained  unanswered,  but  not 
because  I  have  been  unmindful  of  its  kindly 
contents  I  was  indeed  both  sorry  and  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  you  have  resigned  your 


174  A   PLACE   IN  TJY  MEMORY. 


Station  as  one  of  the  managers  of  the  . 

snowmg  as  I  do  your  former  devotion  to  its 
best  interests.    But  my  acquaintance  with 

you,  Mr.  D  ,  assures  me  that  you  took  not 

such  a  step,  without  good  reasons  for  so 
doing. 

The  success  of  henevolence  and  rehgion,  is 
not  wholly  dependent  upon  the  efforts  of  man. 
God  ^an  work  and  none  can  hinder,  and  in 
due  time  the  labor  of  his  hands  shall  be 

accomplished.    But,  Mr.  D  ,  when  I  thmk 

of  being  again  barred  within  those  massive 
walls,  my  heart  sinks  at  the  thought  of  your 
coming  there  no  more,  to  heighten  with  your 
presence  our  pensive  joys.  Oh !  I  fondly 
hope  you  will  visit  us  sometimes,  and  let  us 
feel  the  pressure  of  your  friendly  hands,  and 
the  cordial  greeting  of  your  endearing  words. 
I  have  passed  the  winter  with  my  Rochester 
friends.  Spring  has  come,  and  it  is  decided 
that  I  take  the  cars  on  the  first  May  morning, 
for  the  New- York  Institution. 

A  shadow  of  sadness  nestles  in  my  heart 
when  I  picture  the  future ;  but  we  see  not  as 
God  sees.    It  is  a  part  of  my  faith  that  what- 


RlilGNATlON.  175 

ever  is^  is  for  he  best,  so  I  manage  to  put  on 
as  sunny  a  face  as  possible,  and  laugh  when 
they  speak  of  my  returning,  and  resuming  my 
labors  as  a  noviciate.  We  have  had  a  charm- 
ing winter,  and  the  last  twelve  days  have 
been  exceedingly  fine.  Lizzy  and  Carry  are 
busy  bossing  their  gardeners,  so  1  have  had 
an  opportunity  of  passing  much  of  my  time 
out  of  doors.  My  general  health  is  very 
good,  but  alas  for  these  poor  eyes  !  I  much 
fear  they  will  never  recover  from  the  severe 
blows  and  coal  fires  of  the  Institution. 

Glad  to  hear  that  Mrs.  B.  and  her  family 
are  waW.  I  shall  write  her  soon.  Please 
share  my  heart's  most  affectionate  regards  with 
Mrs.  D.  and  the  other  members  of  your  family, 
and  believe  me  ever  gratefully  yours. 


Long  Island  Water- Cure,  Aug.  31,  184S. 

My  most  excellent  friend  Mr.  D.  ; — 
You  may  think  me  unmindful  of  the  many 
demands  upon  your  time.  Mrs.  N.  replied, 
after  reading  your  last,  that  she  would  be  most 


176  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

lb 

nappy  to  be  the  bearer  of  a  note  to  you,  an  op- 
portunity which  I  cannot  let  pass.  Dr.  N.  is 
certainly  one  of  the  choicest  spirits  I  evei 
knew.  He  greets  nie  every  day  with  "  how 
do  you  do,  my  child  ?"  so  affectionately,  that  I 
am  getting  to  love  him  with  my  whole  heart. 
Mrs.  N.  is  very  like  him.  Fanny  Forester  and 
and  several  other  lights  of  the  age,  were  pupils 
of  hers.  Mr.  D.,  I  am  certainly  very  happy 
here,  and  perfectly  satisfied  with  every  thing 
as  it  is.  I  wrote  you  the  other  day  by  Mr.  E., 
did  you  get  it  ?  All  is  going  on  now  as  then, 
only  the  water  is  growing  colder,  and  I  am 
every  day  stronger  and  can  walk  farther. 
With  as  much  grateful  affection  as  my  heart 
can  give,  I  send  you  this  brief  note.  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  very,  very  glad  I  am  to  hear  from 
you.  Your  missives,  as  you  call  them,  are 
precious  things ;  all  here  love  to  read  them ; 
indeed  we  are  so  out  of  reading  matter,  that 
old  letters  are  sometimes  resorted  to  for  pas- 
time. The  other  day  Mrs.  N.  read  me  all  of 
yours,  often  exclaiming  as  she  read  on,  "  Wnat 
a  blessed  man  that  Mr.  D.  is ;  I  certainly  must 
know  him." 


THE   SW^ET    ASSURANCE.  177 

Ohj  every  body  is  so  kind  to  me  !  Thank 
you  for  that  sweet  assurance,  that  tJds  dark- 
mss  does  not  cloud  the  hearts  of  my  fliends, 
thai  it  does  not  make  them  love  me  less ;  their 
love  and  sympathy  are  all  that  bind  me  to 
earth.  They  are  God's  gifts,  and  I  do  prize 
them.  They  spring  up  every  where  now,  but 
will  it  be  always  so?  God  grant  it  may! 
Heaven  bless  you,  and  all  yours ' 


Cousin  Will  : — I  am  glad  you  have  at  last 
begun  to  paste  your  scraps.  I  have  written, 
accordhig  to  your  request,  the  following  little 
address,  which  if  you  please  you  may  copy 
neatly,  and  place  upon  the  first  page  ;  and 
when  your  book  is  completed,  I  will  write  for 
you  the  close.  The  accompanying  engravings 
are  some  which  I  selected  for  my  own  use,  but 
]  do  not  care  for  them  now.  You  must  border 
them  with  gilt,  and  intersperse  them  through 
your  book ;  they  will  both  relieve  and  orna- 
ment its  pages. 

8* 


118  A   PLACE   IN   TIIY  MEMORY 


TO  MY  SCRAP-BOOK. 

I  found  thee  amidst  a  multitude — a  namekss,  blank,  ani 
meaning  thing ;  with  a  look  expressing  nought  but  cold 
neglect.  Perchance  it  was  pity  moved  me  ,  or  the  kind 
feeling  of  the  good  Samaritan.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  jwssed 
thee  not  by,  but  have  brought  thee  to  my  own  ho.ne  ;  anJ 
henceforth  we  will  be  friends,  dwelling  together  in  unity 
and  love.  Thou  shalt  be  to  me  a  silent  companion,  sharing 
all  my  joys  and  sorrows ;  and  I  will  gather  for  thee  from 
the  storehouse  of  know^ledge  ;  I  will  enrich  thee  with  the 
unfading  beauties  of  thought — with  treasures  of  intellect ; 
and  the  holy  fires  of  feeling  and  love,  hope  and  ambition, 
too,  shall  be  thine.  Upon  thy  heart  will  be  written  indelibly 
the  laws  of  gratitude  and  the  great  rule  of  right ;  and 
thou  wilt  speak  a  language  pure  as  lisped  by  angel-tongues. 
Thy  lessons  of  wisdom  I  will  make  the  mottoes  of  my 
life.  I  will  bind  them  about  my  heart,  and  be  governed 
by  them  in  all  my  ways.  Thou  wilt  reason,  too,  and  re- 
flect ;  and  oft,  as  we  onward  journey,  when  Silence  holds 
her  spell-like  reign,  thou  wilt  turn  my  free  thoughts  back- 
ward, far  o'er  the  current  of  years,  gathering  for  me  all 
hfe's  scattered  sweets  into  one  hour. 

The  Poet's  art  shall  be  thine  ;  and,  more  eloquent  than 
lyre  of  purest  note,  thou  shalt  sing  of  Him  who  sits  in  ma- 
jesty enthroned,  whose  hand  has  gemmed  the  upper  skie^ 
and  given  the  rose  its  tint.    For  my  sadder  hours,  thou 


THE  PROMISE. 


179 


"  Wilt  weave  a  melancholy  song ; 
And  sweet  the  strain  shall  be,  and  long— 
The  melodies  of  death." 

This  is  a  changing  world.  Those  whom  we  learn  to 
love,  die  ;  and  thou  wilt  chronicle  for  me  their  departure, 
and  keep  in  memory  their  virtues.  Earth  has  many  sor- 
rows ;  and  when  the  dews  of  feeling  gather  on  my  heart, 
and  glisten  in  my  eye,  thy  treasured  words,  in  kindness 
spoken,  shall  be  music  in  ray  ears ;  and  when  years  are 
multiplied,  and  my  hand  has  forgotten  to  act,  and  my  heart 
ceased  to  feel,  thou  shalt  have  a  place  in  my  library  with 
the  '  world's  illustrious,"  companioned  with  the  mighty 
minds  of  old,  whose  names  with  thee  shall  be  familiar  as 
household  words. 

Too  often  the  promises  of  men,  like  music,  when  passed, 
are  obsolete  ;  and  we  know  that  "  passing  away  !"  is  the 
language  of  earth  ;  besides,  we  are  not  the  keepers  of  our- 
selves, nor  the  rulers  of  our  own  ways.  But  what  I  have 
promised,  that  will  I  do ;  and  after  many  days,  thou  shalt 
bear  witness  that,  'ike  the  faithful  Samuel  of  old, "  I  kept 
MY  WORD."  ***** 

R  S.  Cousin  Will,  this  is  St.  Valentine's 
day.  I  wish  I  could  write  you  something  that 
wou.d  so  strike  the  chord  of  cherished  memo- 
ries, as  to  make  your  heart  vibrate  for  ever  to 
their  pleasant  melodies. 

My  little  pet  Nickie  is  recovering  ;  so  for  a 


180 


A   PLACE   IN   TH\  MEMORY. 


time  heaven  will  have  one  angel  less,  but  Mra 

B  's  circle  has  one  more,  and  may  it  be  long 

ere  it  is  broken. 


New- York  Institution  for  the  Blind,  June  16,  1849. 

The  Chief  of  the  Ojibeway  tribe,  during 
his  recent  stay  in  New- York,  gave  us  a  call. 
His  very  tread  is  majesty,  and,  while  being 
escorted  through  the  house,  he  stopped  to 
shake  hands  with  every  one,  and  spoke  so 
tenderly  to  the  little  boys  and  girls,  that  they 
we^e  moved  even  to  tears.  He  told  those 
who  held  their  heads  down,  that  if  the 
Indians  had  them  they  would  lash  them  to 
boards  to  make  them  grow  straight.  When 
all  were  assembled  in  the  Chapel,  Mr.  Cham- 
berlain introduced  him.  Then  Miss  Cynthia 
arose,  and  in  her  own  sweet  voice,  welcomed 
him  as  follows  : — 

Oh,  welcome,  thou  stranger,  our  hearts'  warm  emotions 
Are  clustering  round  thee,  thou  Chief  of  the  brave  ; 
We  dream  of  the  hour  when  with  holy  devotion. 
Thy  people  first  welcomed  our  sires  from  the  wave. 


OJIBEWAY  CHIEF. 


181 


Wo  love  thy  harai.  jues,  thy  v/ar-song  and  fitor> 
Thy  pine-wooded  forests,  so  leafless  and  drear, 
The  red  child  of  Nature,  that  bursts  forth  in  glory, 
To  chase  from  its  covert  the  fleet-footed  deer. 

But  mostly,  we  cherish  the  heart  where  the  spirit 
Hath  planted  its  impress,  all  deathless  and  bright. 
For  the  children  of  promise  by  birthright  inhent 
The  fountain  of  knowledge  that  gloweth  with  light. 

But,  sire,  thou  wait  leave  us  ;  when  absent,  remember 
The  hearts  who  have  welcomed  thy  coming  to-day. 
And  fondly  will  pray  for  the  fate  of  thy  people, 
Whose  children,  like  spring-time,  are  passing  away. 

To  which  the  great  Chief  repUed  so  beauti- 
fully and  so  affectingly  that  I  can  give  you 
no  conception  of  his  words.  He  speaks  Eng- 
hsh  imperfectly,  but  his  figures  and  illustra- 
tions are  so  fine — nearly  every  sentence  had 
in  it  some  picture  from  Nature,  gathered  by 
her  own  child.  The  master  spirits  of  olden 
time,  the  thunders  of  whose  eloquence  shook 
the  Grecian  forum  and  awed  the  world,  were 
from  the  forest ;  and  like  them  the  chief  of  the 
Ojibeways  studied  beneath  the  broad  canopy 
of  the  sky,  by  the  light  of  the  myriad  stars, 
and  gathered  his  imagery  amid  the  cloud- 


182  A   PLACE   IN    rilV  MEMORY. 

capped  hills  of  the  West,  where  the  red  man 
hi  his  native  pride  foUows  the  buffalo  m 
chase,  and  where  Missouri's  waters  in  prism 
beauties  dash,  steers  his  bark  canoe. 

Speaking  of  his  brethren  of  the  forest,  he 
said :  "  Nature  has  given  the  Indian  a  great 
and  good  heart,  and  if  you  would  know  what 
religion  and  learning  would  do  for  him,  hold 
a  diamond  in  the  sunbeams  and  watch  its 
sparkling.  True,  my  people  see  the  glories  ot 
yonder  sun,  and  dance  with  delight  when  he 
comes  up  from  the  waves  ;  but  a  far  brightei 
light  shines  in  upon  your  minds.  You  have 
learned  of  God  and  the  Bible,  and  I  hope 
v/hen  the  shades  of  night  have  fallen  on  the 
world,  and  you  go  to  rest,  and  the  angels  are 
leaning  over  you  listening  to  your  whispered 
prayers,  you  will  not  forget  the  children  of  the 
forest  And  when  the  morning  breaks  may 
blessings  fall  upon  them  like  showers  of  rain- 
irops  upon  withered  flowers." 

A  fly  might  as  well  try  to  take  the  altitude 
of  a  mountain,  as  for  me  to  attempt  to  give 
you  an  idea  of  his  eloquence.  His  object  in 
passing  through  the  country  is  to  excite,  it 


HIS  PETITION.  18ii 

possible,  an  interest  in  behalf  of  his  wronged 
and  oppressed  people.  At  the  next  session  of 
Congress  he  purposes  petitioning  Government 
for  a  tract  of  land  in  the  Northwest  Territo- 
ries, which  shall  be  to  the  Indian  an  inherit- 
ance for  ever,  to  be  neither  bought  nor  sold 
by  any  nation.  Then,  with  proper  efforts,  he 
thinks  civilization,  agriculture,  the  arts  and 
sciences,  religion  and  refinement,  may  be  in- 
troduced among  them  with  comparative  ease. 

In  the  course  of  his  remarks  he  exclaimed : 
"  Upon  whose  grounds  do  your  proud  institu- 
tions rest?  Where  dug  you  the  stones  of 
which  they  are  piled,  and  from  whose  forests 
were  their  timbers  hewed?  Who  welcomed 
your  fathers  from  the  sea,  and  whose  wig- 
wams hid  them  from  the  storm,  their  enemies, 
and  beasts  of  the  wood  ?  Who  smoked  with 
them  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  showed  them 
lakes  and  streams  running  like  silver  currents 
upon  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  and  when 
their  French  foes  came  down  from  the 
north  with  battle-axe  and  spear,  who,  like 
the  Chief  of  the  Mohawks,  harangued 
his  braves,  and  bared  his  own  breast,  and 


184  A  PLACE   IN   THY  MEMOilY. 

nobly  fell  in  their  defence?  But  oh!  we 
will  speaK  no  more  of  this.  Too  many  of  oui 
sires  sleep  side  by  side  in  their  angry  blood 
where  they  fell.  The  Indian  has  done  evil, 
but  he  has  sometimes  done  good  ;  and  how 
much  he  has  .been  wronged,  the  Great  Spirit 
and  his  angels  only  know.  When  I  look  over 
these  grain  fields,  so  far  as  the  eye  can  reach, 
my  aching  heart  asks,  What  has  my  people 
received  in  return  ?  What  have  the  pale  faces 
given  in  exchange  for  all  these  garden  scenes  ? 
They  have  taught  our  lips  to  diirst  for  fire- 
water instead  of  our  mountain  springs,  and 
our  bows  and  arrows  we  have  laid  down  for 
the  white  man's  thunder-sticks,  and  no  more 
can  we  chase  the  fleet-footed  deer,  or  follow 
the  fox  to  his  hole,  or  the  wolf  to  his  cave ; 
for  we  are  weary  and  our  spirits  do  fail,  and 
our  hearts  grow  sick  and  die  within  us." 

The  Indian  is  not  all  of  savage  mould ;  the 
highly  significant  names  he  left  upon  oui 
lakes  and  rivers  is  sufiicient  index  to  his  per- 
ceptions of  the  beautiful.  Who,  speaking  a 
language  that  expresses  every  shade  of  thought, 
could  have  conceived  a  more  fit  appellation 


OBERON.  185 

fii  (he  placid  wa.ers  of  a  lake  than  Winnipi- 
S30gee,  which  means  a  smile  of  the  Great 
Spirit?  By  the  light  of  his  own  unassisted 
reason,  the  Indian  has  come  to  know  and  feel 
that  there  is  a  God,  v/hom  he  ignorantly  but 
reverently  worships ;  he  marks  his  fierce  wrath 
in  the  whirlwind,  and  hears  his  anger  in  the 
tlumder's  roar ;  he  sees  his  displeasure  in  the 
waning  of  the  moon,  and  feels  his  love  in  the 
warmer  light  of  the  sun. 


Institution  for  the  Blind,  1849. 

My  noble  friend  Marion  : — It  is  Satur^ 
day,  teacher's  holiday,  and  Sibyl  is,  as  usual, 
with  her  mother.  Mr.  Stevens,  from  the  Theo- 
logical Seminary,  called  this  afternoon  to  favoi 
us  with  some  reading  sent  us  by  Dr.  Turner, 
and  the  last  two  hours  Miss  Cynthia  and  I 
have  listened  in  raptures  to  the  beautiful  poem 
"Oberon,"  a  translation  from  the  German  of 
VVieland  ;  and  when  we  came  to  where  lluor 
and  Rizia  had  crossed  the  fearful  mountain, 
and  landed  safe  in  the  hermit's  vale,  I  engag^-'d 
my  friend's  hand  wherewith  to  write  you. 


156  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMOivY. 

Marion,  I  have  no  claims  upon  either  youi 
sympathy  or  regard.  If  there  is  any  loveliness 
m  my  nature,  I  am  sure  my  actions  ncA^er  re- 
vealed it  to  you,  for  dependence  has  always 
made  me  act  the  part  I  would  not  act.  In  my 
seeing  days,  I  was  proud  and  resolute,  hke 
yourself;  no  barriers  were  too  high  for  me  to 
surmount,  no  difficulties  too  hard  to  remove. 
Once  convinced  where  the  path  of  duty  lay, 
thither  my  spirit  perseveringly  trod  ;  but  now 
darkness  has  made  my  soul  a  cellar  plant,  and 
its  most  enduring  energies  are  marked  with 
weakness. 

I  often  pause  and  wonder  for  what  Provi- 
dence is  preparing  me ;  what  order  of  spirit 
must  I  be,  that  this  course  of  discipline  is 
needful?  Whither  would  my  footsteps  have 
led  me.  if  darkness  had  not  set  them  to  wan- 
dering ?  The  way  I  once  pursued  to  happi- 
ness is  hedged  up ;  but  God  has  mercifully 
opened  another,  and  though  it  is  a  mountain 
way,  and  often  rough  and  barren,  yet  some 
httle  fountains  of  joy  do  well  up  along  my 
path,  and  always  too,  where  I  least  expect 
them. 


GOOD   SAMARITANS.  187 

I  have  recently  set  my  hand  to  a  httle  work 
and,  dear  Marion,  am  I  presuming  too  much 
upon  your  disinterestedness,  when  I  ask  you 
to  aid  me  ?  The  influence  of  the  good  is  al- 
ways desirable,  but  especially  so  in  an  under- 
tcxking  where  success  is  in  the  least  doubtful. 
You  number  in  your  list  many  friends,  and 
hoping  you  will  be  pleased  to  gather  among 
them  a  few  subscribers  for  the  volume  I  am 
about  to  publish,  I  send  you  the  accompanying 
prospectus.  If  in  your  heart  it  meet  with  a 
cordial  reception,  some  names  must  grace  its 
pages.  I  am  to  remain  here  until  my  book  is 
published.  Many  of  the  good  and  great  are 
aiding  me,  and  they  say  I  am  bound  to  succeed. 

My  regards  to  Mrs.  L  ,  and  my  love  to 

Lizzie,  who  first  walked  with  me  to  church 
after  I  <:ould  not  see,  and  Mary,  who  led  me 
first  among  the  flowers,  and  I  called  her  Teary^ 
because  she  wept  with  me.  And  Carrie,  who 
Bold  her  pretty  veil  to  buy  for  me  some  shoes ; 
I  shall  never  forget  my  baker  friend,  who  sent 
me  the  gold,  nor  Franky  dear,  who  returnea 
her  watch  to  the  jeweller's,  to  place  some  mo 
aey  in  my  purse. 


188  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMORY. 

I  love  to  remember  those  good  souls,  Mrs, 
Sparks  and  Miss  Crane,  who  watched  by  m« 
BO  many  long  and  painful  nights.  Though  I 
never  see  them  more,  and  get  tidings  from 
them  only  at  long  intervals;  still,  like  the 
Pyramids  of  Egypt,  I  know  they  are  there, 
and  unchanged. 

There  are  less  true  friends  in  the  world  for 
want  of  a  proper  knowledge  of  what  consti- 
tutes real  friendship,  than  for  any  defect  in 
purpose.  A  true  friend,  is  one  who  would 
defend  i/ou,  when  he  would  allow  himself  to 
be  wronged  ;  is  incensed  at  an  outrage  upon 
your  character  or  rights,  when  if  it  were  him- 
self, he  would  hardly  heed  it ;  and  while  he 
regrets  your  errors  frankly  admonishes  you, 
and  then  bears  with  your  weaknesses  as  it 
they  were  his  own.  Some  persons  make 
friends  with  you  to-day,  but  to-morrow  with 
the  slightest  pretext  withdraw  their  favor. 
Perchance  you  have  uttered  a  sentiment,  oi 
taken  a  liberty  that  does  not  accord  precisely 
with  their  views ;  or  some  others  have  ex- 
pressed opinions  derogatory  to  your  worth  and 


TRUE  TO   THE   END.  181) 

behold  they  are  gone.  And  yet  there  is  httle 
room  to  censure  them,  for  love  is  not  ahvays 
perennial ;  and  when  the  sun  has  ceased  to 
sln'ne  warmly  upon  it,  nothing  is  more  natural 
than  that  it  should  die,  as  the  leaves  witlier 
and  fall  when  the  storms  of  winter  pelt  upon 
the  trees. 

But,  dear  Marion,  whgn  I  look  into  my  ov/n 
heart,  and  see  how  imperfectly  I  have  ever  filled 
the  offices  of  a  true  friend  to  any  one,  1  feel 
whatever  I  may  say  upon  the  subject  is  but  a 
tirade  against  myself  Indeed  nothing  short  of 
an  elevated  nature,  and  a  redeemed  heart, 
can  make  us  perfectly  disinterested  in  any 
relation. 

Modern  philosophy  and  religion  teach  that 
the  world  is  rapidly  growing  better ;  if  so,  the 
time  will  come  when  it  may  be  said  of  all 
WHO  profess  to  be  friends,  like  Saul  and  Jon- 
athan, "In  their  lives  they  were  lovely  and 
pleasant,  and  in  their  death  they  were  not 
divided." 

•  «»«««•« 

Raphael  never  wrote  any  unwelcome  news 


190  A   PLACE   IN   THY  MEMOKi. 

to  those  lie  loved,  nor  did  he  leave  an  ugly 

picture  on  canvas ;  he  said  there  is  a  bright 

and  dark  side  to  human  hfe,  and  when  the 

light  has  left  us,  it  is  better  to  bring  it  back  by 

imagination,  than  mourn  over  its  absence. 
#**#♦## 

For  a  farthing  one  can  buy  a  song,  and 
fliere  is  no  good  thing  in  this  world  that 
money  will  not  purchase,  save  a  heart  that 
always  beats  in  unison  with  one's  ow)i : 
and   is  right  out  with  every  thing,  faults 

and  all.    With  such  souls,  as  Mrs.  G  

says,  we  do  not  converse,  but  talk^  la;y  iside 
all  ceremony,  cast  off  restraint,  and  word 
our  thoughts  as  they  occur,  and  our  feelings 
just  as  they  spring,  spontaneous  from  the 
soul ;  but  such  spirits  we  seldom  meet,  for 
like  all  that  is  good  in  this  life,  they  linger  by 
the  way,  and  we  have  little  cause  for  surprise 
when  they  leave  us  early.  In  writing,  we 
only  hit  at  things,  instead  of  expressing  them 
freely;  this  morning  I  would  love  to  transmit 
to  you  a  true  copy  of  my  troubled  feelings,  for 
I  know  that  5  0U  would  sustam  me  by  youi 


GUOD-BY. 


IDl 


assurances,  ana  I  should  be  profited  by  /ou* 
counsels. 

Good-by,  Marion,  that  our  heavenly  Father 
may  bless  yon,  and  keep  you  always  in  his 
love,  IS  the  prayer  of  your  friend,— 

S.  H.  De  K  


TUE  END. 


